jeffrey + upstairsloft

Kate and I are preparing outfits for New York. She’s trying out clothes and I’m debating what to wear around my neck. I want to bring film-only cameras like I did last year in Hawaii. Dammit. Decisions decisions. I’m limiting myself to the Lomo and either the Nikon or Rebel XT. This is when I wish I had a compact digital. Maybe if I travelled more. I’m psyched. That would be awesome if I didn’t come back because MGMT design or Pentagram hired me as an intern. Ha!

After 12 years, I finally posted my two sets of lomographs.

I’ve been hit by the stereotypes of car accident culprits. A few years ago, I was involved in an accident with an oblivious asian driver. Yesterday I was involved in an accident with a senior citizen who was on his way to the doctor. I guess the accident to look out for is the one with the businesswoman on her cell phone. Which brings up a few questions.

Should the driver’s test be in more than one language? Should people born in 1931 still operate a moving vehicle? The traffic lights were out yesterday (you can already imagine the idiots at this scene) and somehow being 3/4 across the intersection, two cars attempting a left did not see me. Mister 1931 reacted by not slamming on his brakes but letting my bumper bring him into a complete stop. It’s no wonder why I don’t like to get out much. Stupid people. Stupid drivers. Stupid decisions. Does anybody think nowadays? Ants. All frantic, little ants.

I’m turning into a grandpa. First, I like to dress like one. Second, I have ointments. Yes, ointments, not cream, but ointments. I smell like chamomile, baby lotion and Bengay. I have lower back tension, sensitive skin and symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome. This isn’t me. I’m the kid who climbs the tree, falls off, sprains or breaks something, and climbs that same tree the day after—with a cast or a brace.

Also, I’m waiting for Costco’s Kirkland brand to start making cars. They make everything else but cars. OOh, Kirkland brand air. It’s better than your air and it’s cheaper! Check this out. Costco sells caskets. Bury your loved ones and save money!

>>> Costco Online

I think Dennis Quaid is my favorite actor. He’s awesome.

I’m forgetting how to interact with people. I’m not sure if interacting with people should be subconscious and I just go with the flow or what. I’ve cooped myself pretty tightly after high school, tried to socialize again, and after no break in the pattern, I began cooping myself back up again—that all-too-familiar feeling. At least Kate socializes, it may not be in person and it may not be direct, but her Yelping is exposing her to some sort of culture. Me, all I do is talk design.

Yesterday, while waiting an hour to eat at a sushi buffet, I caught myself babbling design and I interrupted myself to ask Kate, “You’re bored of me aren’t you?” I felt like those guys who immerse themselves in too much CNN and all they do is talk politics. Is all I talk about design? Don’t get me wrong. That’s not all I know. I’m quite cultured. I have tons of opinions on non-design-related subjects. But I never give myself a chance to voice them.

It’s not just me though. Another thing that pushes me away from people is that everybody is too caught up in blowing hot air out of their arses that I just don’t want to listen anymore. I’m tired of listening. All I do is listen. I’m sure Kate feels the same way so it’s got to be a relief when I can talk to new people so she doesn’t have to hear me gag on about something she’s heard already. The problem is, nobody wants to listen. There are so many talkers in this world—not enough listeners.

Well, apparently I have social issues I don’t know how to address and my version of TALKING is throwing a bunch of paragraphs into the internet world and pretending there’s a crowd of people who care to listen. Oh internet. You give me such assurance, surely it’s imagined, nonetheless it’s assurance.

I’m going to buy 500 gallons of lotion and fill my tub with it. That’ll be my new sleeping quarters—nonstop moisturization. This eczema is bugging the hell out of me. All of the doctors I’ve seen are conspiring against me. I could buy a lens with all the co-payments I’ve made. I hate revolving parts of my life in consideration of not irritating my skin. I feel violent. Damn doctors. Let me see a dermatologist. At least take the time to ask me questions to get a better understanding of what is going on instead of hastily dismissing me with a tube of prescription hydrocortisone to add to my collection. Asses. I hope they become obese chain smokers with nagging rashes. That’ll make me happy about all of this.

I’m very fortunate to have the people I have in my life. But sometimes it frustrates the hell out of me about whatever interests they have, I support them and I am genuinely enthused about them pursuing whatever it is they are passionate about. Unfortunately, that treatment is far from returned.

The only people who seem to offer their support and share their enthusiasm are the people who are getting into a similar field. The past three weeks have been huge. I scored a great internship, handpicked from the director of the program herself. I’m involved in some cool projects inside and outside of school and I just got the greatest insight from attending the AIGA portfolio review in SF.

Outside of school—two people. My illustrator friend, Paul and my graphic designer girlfriend, Kate. They are my support team.