The Art Directors' Club

I have always loved to have my hands on things.  I like to know how things work.  I like to create.  I like to be innovative.  I love for people to look at my work.  If I could be anything in this world, actress, singer, leader of the free world, I would choose to be an Art Director.  

I love that Art Directors have so much power.  When you flip through a magazine, it is the visual appearance, not the writing or the research or the company, that stops you in your tracks.  It is the art, the design, the appearance.  And what amazes me is that the design does not have to be intricately crafted to be powerful.  With the right touch, someone can make only three measly  squiggly lines come to life.  

Not just anyone can be an Art Director, though.  It is a skill and a talent that only a handful of people have.  I want to be in that club.  I want to be someone with a specialized skill--someone that can do something extraordinary and it comes naturally. 

 

Art Direction speaks to me also because it presents the opportunity to make a very intimate connection with someone you don't even know.  I love interacting with people--making friendships, networking, people-watching.  I love it because everyone is so extremely different.  Art Direction presents the opportunity to make connections with people that are not only different from you, they are extremely different with each other.  While they can be from Sudan or Scotland, they all share a common trait:  the desire for beauty.  Sure, beauty can be the way a string of words hits your ear or the way a feather feels when it is brushed across your arm, but I think the most powerful beauty is visual.  And no, I am not talking about a 6'4" man with sandy hair, piercing eyes and a glistening tan.  I am talking about taking beauty in visually--it is easier for me to determine beauty by looking at something, not reading or hearing.

I want to create beauty for people.  I want to create something that makes people feel powerful and inspired.  But most of all, I want to create things so beautiful that when people look at them, they feel beauty within themselves.

The Objective: Stop Putting the Objective on Your Resume

I am so relieved that I don't need to write an objective for my resume.  Whenever I would create or update my resume to apply for a job or college I would cry out in terror when I had to update my objective.  

Doesn't it seem that my objective is obvious if I am giving you my resume?  If you are offering me a position and I give you a resume, I want to fill the slot that is open.  Does anyone even read the objective?  I feel like the act of writing an objective is just a contest of who can string the words "obtain", "pursue", "interest", "elevate", and "enhance" most skillfully together.  Objectives don't even make sense at first.  You read it, reread it, furrow your brow, cock your head to the side, then begin to try to interpret the jumble of words that sounds as though someone put forth a painful amount of effort to make himself sound more intelligent than he actually is.  Phew!  That was a mouthful.  

Okay, I have given "objectives" a hard time here.  They do serve a very useful purpose.  Thesaurus manufacturers all over the world found a boost in sales once objectives became the norm in resumes.  

It is just really nice to know that someone else, someone more educated and experienced than I recognizes the superfluity of objectives.  

Alright, I am done ranting.  But seriously, what a relief! 

Account Planning

Account Planning is simply not for me.  I don't want to insult the Account Planners out there.  In fact, I want to applaud you.  You can maintain great focus when accomplishing a somewhat mundane task.  

I guess my first qualm with Account Planning is the label.  Planning...Hmmm....  I am not much of a planner.  I am a doer.  

It frustrates me that the Account Planners spend so much time researching and planning the campaign, but they do not get to be a part of the creative process.  The thought of planning and researching without being able to creatively brainstorm suffocates me.  To me, the glory of advertising is being able to physically create.  It tortures me to think of spending my life doing something where I cannot be artistic.  

One of my loves of advertising stems from its hybrid nature:  it mixes technical business skills with artistry.  Account planning takes away one of my passions and let me tell you--I'm not cool with that.

Recently, I had to assume the role of an Account Planner for a project in my advertising class.  The main purpose was to do research and learn about our assigned product, but I could not help but dwell on brainstorming creative ideas for a possible campaign.  Over and over again, I had to snap myself back on track and remind myself what my goal was.  I do not have the ability to focus on just that aspect of advertising.  I prefer the creative side of things...you know, discovering unique visual solutions and making solid connections with people through just a few powerful words, thinking differently.  Frankly, I can't spend all of my time researching without getting restless.  

Absentee Ballot

I filled out my absentee ballot today and while the feeling of bubbling in my vote for this historic presidential election was immensely satisfying, I couldn't help but walk away from the experience a little melancholy.  The root of my disdain comes from the fact that I had to pay the postage on the envelope.  And while the amount was a paltry forty two cents, it was 'the principle of the thing' that upset me.  The whole idea behind the voter paying postage hints at an undertone that one must be fiscally capable of doing so.  Our country was based on the idea that anyone can vote--rich or poor.  And there should not be a financial barrier to voting.  To me, this idea is faintly similar to that of a poll tax.

It is simply unAmerican for our government to require us to pay postage on an absentee ballot!  Any imposition that presents an obstacle to voting simply should not be allowed.  End of story.

Muffins and Cake

Carol saunters out of the elevator towards her cubicle one groggy Sunday morning. Skinny latte and muffin in hand, everyone she passes realizes she had to skip breakfast at home in the interest of time. But there are no judgments. Clearly, Carol chose the healthy route on a morning when grabbing a doughnut and a hot chocolate would have been much faster and easier. Carol arrives at her desk and releases her satchel. She pulls out her chair and plops her latte and muffin on her desk. Just as she gets settled and is about to eat her breakfast, her boss, Janice, rushes through the halls and attracts quite a lot of attention. It is painfully obvious that Janice is running late. Unlike Carol, Janice chose the unhealthier option. Since her daughter turned three yesterday, her house had a surplus of birthday cake, so Janice grabbed a piece on her way out of the door. As Carol took the first bite of her muffin she (and the rest of the office) smugly judged Janice for her blatantly unhealthy breakfast.

One of the most fascinating things to me is the general acceptance that muffins are good for you, when in fact, they are just dome shaped mini cakes. Think about it...why do you like muffins so much? Is it because they are conveniently packaged portions? Is it because they are sweet? Is it because they can come in a variety of flavors? Is it because of that drizzle of glaze some bakeries put on top? Guess what. I just described a cupcake.

And that is why I love muffins so much...even moreso than cake. In an ideal world, I would eat cake every day. However, there is a certain stigma to being a cake-eater. Think back to Janice. Didn't you feel sorry for her? Oh...she is so frazzled that she is eating cake for breakfast. That is so pathetic. And didn't you find yourself thinking, "keep up with that cake habit of yours and you'll be developin' some nice muffin tops pretty soon..."

Carol and her muffin, on the other hand, get off scot free. When you read about her, you thought, "Attagirl, Carol! Way to make a healthy decision!" But deep down, she is thinking, "Bahahaha! I have tricked the office into thinking I am a healthy eater and made a wise decision for breakfast. Now, I will discontinue my inner monologue so that I may enjoy my cake. Hahahaha, Janice! You are a sucker."

Muffin eaters, beware. I am on to your scheming.

Drivers' Licenses

Just because you don't have your drivers' license with you does not mean you are not qualified to drive.  I hate that we drivers can get in a huge amount of trouble for driving without that silly little plastic card.  My driving skills do not depend on whether or not my license is with me--they relate to how observant, cautious, and judicious I am on the road.  So, since none of those qualities relate to my carrying a physical manifestation of a license, I think it is silly we always have to be armed in that sense.  

In a world where phones are routinely equipped with internet and computer monitors are touch sensitive, it is more than sensible to expect the Department of Motor Vehicles can put drivers' licenses in an electronic database that is accessed via fingerprint.  

In my mind, the process is as simple as this:

Karen is driving fifty in a thirty five mile per hour zone.  Just as she puts more pressure on the accelerator, she notices a strobe of blue and red lights in her rearview mirror.  She slows the car and stops on the side of the road.  The police car slows behind her.  The officer approaches her car with a small device, about five inches in length and width.  He notifies her of the offense and asks her to press her finger on the screen.  Almost instantly, the computer pulls up Karen's information:  her full name, date of birth, address, eye color, hair color, height, and underestimated weight.  Not only does the officer have all of this information at his fingertips, he can be certain it is not expired or fabricated (except for the weight--as a woman, I beg y'all to just let us lie on that one).

Converting this kind of information to electronic databases will please multiple groups...

Adults will be happy because bars and liquor stores will have additional measures to prevent the sale of alcohol to minors because they will have to use their fingerprints before purchase.  The issue of a fake i.d. would become a moot point because you can't fake your fingerprint.

Once said minors get over the fact that they can't buy liquor anymore, they, too will become happier.  They will have more money to spend on technology and clothes once they stop buying all that liquor.  Also, they won't have to worry about wasting fifty bucks on a fake i.d. ...  It will take a while for them to warm up to this idea, but I am confident they will... eventually.

Environmentalists will rejoice when they find out no more plastic will go to waste as a means to manufacture licenses.

And I will rejoice because the whole country will realize that I came up with this amazing idea and everyone will acknowledge that I am extremely clever.

You're welcome, America.

Crazy Cat Lady

You've heard about the crazy cat lady, right?  I think I am going to be the crazy dog lady.  

But you're not creeped out, right?  For some reason, having a lot of cats or simply being a 'cat person' carries a strange stigma, when it absolutely should not.  

Before you read any further, please remember how I referred to how a best friend's qualities translate to our personalities...okay, do you remember?  Good.  Keep reading.

Look at cats; they are independent, care for themselves, and don't need anyone to love them to be sufficient.  In fact, cats make you work for their love.  If someone can live like that, I applaud him or her (probably a her because there are no crazy cat men...).  That is quite empowering to be that independent.

Dogs carry a different stigma.  They will love you no matter what and depend on their owner's adoration.  Now, because I am a dog person, do you judge me because you think I am needy?  Nope... probably not.  It's a strange double standard.

So, I want to take this time to get it out in the open.  Let's leave the crazy cat women alone.  Ladies, let's not be afraid of becoming a cat lady, but instead, hope we can someday harness that kind of independence...even if we are dog lovers. 

Magnets

I just moved in my apartment a few months ago and I am sad. Now, don't get me wrong. I love my bedroom, my view, my closet, my doorbell--I love everything but just one thing.

My fridge is stainless steel and as a result, it is not magnetic. I don't pride myself in much, but I do like to brag about my magnet collection from time to time. What a shame it is not to display some of my most prized possessions for everyone to see.

As soon as I realized my fridge was not magnetic, I had a mission--I had to find something glorious to put my magnets on.

At first I could not find a large surface for everything, so I decided to spread the love and put magnets wherever they would stick. So, I started with my toaster. My toaster has my alligator chip clips that I cherish so much.

My "monkey expression" magnet was just too big for the other side of my toaster, so I put that on my laundry machine.

There is a metal vent above my stove that I have discovered has regions of magnetism, so as I dust off my magnet collection, I will be sure to put some there.  

Also, there is an area about one inch long and half an inch tall on my oven that will hold very weak magnets.  

This whole episode has distressed me greatly.  I just really wanted to have that stereotypical fridge with random and absurd magnets on it.  To me, that is the mark of a home that is lived in.  But, I kinda like the way my magnets are spread out all over the place now.  It means that I will stumble upon them more often and they will give me little bursts of happiness throughout the day.  

So friends, if you are reading this and are upset because you, too, have a stainless steel fridge, fret not.  Follow my lead and share your magnets with your oven and dryer--it's more interesting to spread the love.  

...And how many people do you know(except me) who put magnets on their laundry machines?  Not that many, right?  

Even if your fridge is magnetic, I propose you find other places for your collection.  Let's start a revolution and make fridge magnets a thing o the past.  

Ate Less Chicken

Ever since my mom put pictures of chickens and roosters up in our kitchen at home, I have noticed that I have stopped eating poultry...

What a difference a second makes

You know Dinah Washington's musical gem, "What a difference a day makes"? Well, lately, I have been thinking what a difference a second makes.

As I just explored in my previous post, a second is going to make me a true adult (an adult, where the "ad" sounds like the "ad" in "advertising"*).
In just one second (and after two words), a man changes from a sought after bachelor to a settled husband.
After one second and a firm handshake, a young graduate in a power suit becomes a part of the workforce.
One second passes, a baby pops out and that red head girl in the cubicle next to yours is a mother.
...And all it takes is one second for someone to be living, then to be dead.

I hate sounding cliche, but I am going to anyway. After all, cliches exist because they have some truth to them. Thinking about seconds and how much weight they really carry has made me appreciate the saying "make every day count/live every day as though it's your last". Now I know I will be able to prepare for the defining seconds that make me a wife, mother, oscar winner, etc., but there are some seconds I might not be able to prepare for. So, it's really important for me appreciate everything I've got in the moment I have it. Because even if things don't change in a split second, they might change in a day. And on that note, I will leave you with this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POfy0KodUpc (my apologies for the cheese-ball visuals)

*It's important to note true adults pronounce the word this way, while youngsters prefer to say adult in the "uhhh...dult" way, which is fitting, considering teenagers' superfluous use of their "umms", "uhhhs", "mmmms" and "likes".

20

I'm turning 20 tomorrow...and I am weirded out. Here's the thing about turning twenty: yeah, it is exciting to be part of the twentysomething crowd (the mature, older, cool kids), but escaping from one's teen years only means one thing to me right now: accountability. I have always been a responsible person--an accountable one, too. I turn in things on time, I 'fess up when I think I have done something wrong, I don't make excuses, people depend on me.

While I have always lived like this, I always knew that deep down, if I did feel like turning something in late or blaming the world for my problems, people could always chalk my mess-ups to being a teenager and not knowing how the world works. If I ever slipped up, it wouldn't technically be my fault--it would be youth's fault. But now, in approximately 3 and a half hours, when the clock strikes one twelve a.m. on October 12th 2008, all of this will change.

It's weird to think everything about the way people see you will change in a mere second. At 1:11 and 59 seconds, I will be a young kid who is still trying to figure out everything for herself. But that's okay, because I am a teenager. But one second later, I will be in my twenties. It will be my responsibility to take life by the horns and finally get my stuff together. If I mess up, the blame is on me. It will be one hundred percent my problem, one hundred percent my fault.

So, yeah, turning 20 is my scariest birthday so far. But the more I think about it, the more "okay" I am with it. Being 20 isn't the time to try not to fail--it is the time to show people what I can do.

Sweet Drinks

With the exception of breakfast and dessert, the meals we eat usually are not sweet. Our drinks with them, however, are. We will eat a meal consisting of savory, buttery, salty and herb-like tastes, but we will choose sweet tea or coke to drink. However, when we eat breakfast and dessert, we might drink something unsweet like coffee or bland like milk. It just doesn't make sense to me why we choose those flavors to go together. You wouldn't put a scoop of ice cream on top of fried chicken, so why do we drink sweet tea to wash it down?

Dinner Meetings

Okay, so when clients or colleagues have really important meetings, they are usually dinner meetings or lunch meetings, right?  Apparently sharing a meal means something important and significant is happening.  However, I don't think "meal meetings" are all that special.  When you have an important meeting and eat a meal at the same time, this is what I like to call "killing two birds with one stone" because you are both working and eating.  To me, it tells people they are not important enough for undivided attention. 

If I were a professional, I would conduct meetings separate from my mealtimes because I would want my clients/colleagues to know that I think their attention and needs are worth my full attention and time. 

 

What's that, you ask?  What about the food situation?  Won't y'all be hungrier and thus more distracted from pressing business issues at hand?  Well, to this question, I say "ha!"  I will, of course, provide munchies during my meetings.  I always find supplying guests with Peanut M&M's, Diet Coke, Oreo Ice Cream, and Goldfish increases morale and helps everyone get a lot done.  

Sneezing

I am not a delicate sneezer, by any stretch of the imagination.  I even think that my sneezing style is the most similar quality that my dad and I share.  First, I get that tickle...the indicator that my face is about to explode.  Then, I take a great big breath and expel all sorts of irritants whilst screaming an enthusiastic aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh chblach!  No, it's not a pretty sneeze and it's definitely not ladylike, but it's real.

For some reason, I sneeze almost every day of my Geology class.  Maybe it's a clear affirmation that I am, in fact, allergic to science.  Or maybe it's because the seasons are changing.  Whatever the case, I sneeze in class--a lot...and no one really bothers to excuse me.  Now, I am not an attention hog, nor do I insist that everyone drop his or her work and shower me with "God Bless You's", but an occasional interest in my well being would be nice.

There is this girl that sits behind me in class, who, like me, also appears to have an allergy to science.  The difference is that she has one of the most delicate sneezes I think I have ever heard.  She hits octaves I didn't know existed with her pixie-like expulsions.  Now, when this girl achoo's, the whole class gets up in arms...people practically kill themselves to excuse her--even our professor excuses her.  

The reaction is so huge that whenever she sneezes, I get this mental image of the entire classroom immediately turning into a church choir, all decked out in glorious purple robes--our professor is the director.  In accordance with the director's signal, every choir member turns around and sings at the top of their lungs "God Bless You".  That is how obvious both her sneezes and well-wishers are.

I always feel a little left out when this happens.  Everyone pays attention to her when she sneezes, but it is as if I don't matter when I sneeze.  In my opinion (and it this is not just because I am the one sneezing), I deserve more "God Bless You's" than she does because my sneezes are so violent.  It honestly sounds like I am dying.  Her sneezes are so delicate that it is obvious she is okay...they are not that intense.  But mine--gosh, mine sound just plain lethal.

So when you hear that awkward kid in the corner let out a beastly sneeze, take a minute and say "God Bless You".  He will really appreciate the affirmation that his peers don't think he is a monster even though his sneezes are so scary.  

A Big Stack of Books

Don't you feel so smart and accomplished when you walk out of the library, with a stack of dusty and old books in tow?  

Today, I left the library cradling four huge books on the eruptions at Pompeii in 79 A.D.  First, I felt the satisfaction of having so much information at my fingertips.  Then, I felt the cool assurance that everyone who saw me thought I was some sort of intellectual.  

People who carry stacks of documents and textbooks just look cool to me.  Nevermind the fact that they might lose control of their load at any point--the fact that they have so many important things to keep track of is the object of my envy.    

I am not that important, but I think I will start carrying my books instead of putting them in my satchel.  I will just always have them at my fingertips so if I have a spare second in line at The Market or Java City, I can thumb through my papers and double check that debits go on the left and credits go on the right or that Mesosaurus is evidence of plate tectonics.  

The same principle applies to someone who wears glasses.  I don't care that I might attract screams of "four-eyes" or "nerd" because I think people look really cool when they wear their glasses.  I am not ashamed to admit that when I want to feel especially intelligent some days, I make sure to don my specs for class. 

Some may say these are the signs of a dork, but I think they are the signs of someone who is unbelievably suave.  After all, my mom always tells me that nerds rule the world.

What's Your Secret?

Every Sunday morning, after I've cleaned up and gotten myself ready for church, I take my coffee and sit in front of my computer and visit one of my favorite websites:  PostSecret.com.

www.postsecret.com

PS is an online community that displays postcards sent from all over the world that all have one thing in common:  they all share the sender's innermost secret.  In this website, tormented souls can express their deepest thoughts by creating a homemade postcard and sending it in.  The idea is that you get your secret out in the open, but don't have to hurt anyone's feelings or damage your reputation.

I love this idea.  This website is a link between old school and new generation:  postcards and blogs on the internet.  In this world of high speed everything, sometimes it is nice to remember simpler times of the snail mail and plain ol' postcards.

So, do you want to know my secret?  I cannot reveal it behind the anonymity of a postcard, but I will tell it to you anyway.  

My secret is that all day, every day, I wish I could come up with a secret interesting enough to earn a place on the PS website.  

Zogby : The Importance of Youth in This Election

I was thrilled to hear John Zogby would be lecturing at SMU.  I simply can't believe how many esteemed intellectuals SMU makes available for its students.  While I was excited to hear Mr. Zogby speak, I had a feeling the tone and content of the speech would be similar to other speakers.  I was wrong.

Mr. Zogby was a very engaging speaker, mostly because of his attention to the upcoming election in November.  Yes, he spoke about what each candidate offered, but what I thought was most significant was his attention to the importance of young voters.  While it is "up to Obama to lose the election", Zogby noted that there are so many youth that are fired up for this election that they could swing the vote either way.    

I know I am not alone in recognizing the unappreciative attitude our society has for America's youth.  We are loud, reckless, disrespectful, and don't know 'how good we have it'.  I get it and I agree with those comments for a lot of my kind.  

However, I know I am different.  I am appreciative, responsible, and am very grateful for my blessings.  And I know I am not alone.  Some of my peers don't get the respect they deserve.  While older adults in our community claim we are disrespectful, we feel we are disrespected by such stereotypes.

This election excites me because said adults are finally recognizing our important roles in this society.  Yeah, you may not understand us, or even want to, but we are going to have a large impact on the outcome of this election.  It is time for people to realize young people may seem reckless, but whether you like us or not, we do have a voice and we will be heard.

Ice Cream Diaries

Ice cream is my lover.  That's one thing my sister and I have in common...no matter what time of day, how cold it is outside, how many pounds I have packed on in the winter months, at any given time, we will gladly devour a carton of ice cream in one sitting.  

My sister is four years older than I, so she was in college when I was in high school.  Whenever she would come home for the weekend, I would go to the ice cream parlor, order an oreo ice cream cake and have the decorator frost an inside joke we share on the top.  Most of the time, it ended up being a quote from The Office, like "that's what she said" or "assistant TO the regional manager".  When she would come home on Fridays, I would pull out the cake and we would eat the entire thing and watch The Office in our pajamas.  Yes, it is true that we are party animals.  

One of the things that I remember the most about those times is that Jesse would always use a spoon and I, for some reason, adopted a fork for my weapon of choice.  And it was funny because our respective utensils said a lot about who we were as people.  

As Jesse is a journalist, she likes to absorb great doses of information (ice cream) and sift through it to find the essence of her discovery (in the ice cream metaphor, the coveted oreo chunk).      

I, on the other hand, use a fork because I don't like wading through nonsense.  I'm a 'get to the point' kind of person (and I REALLY like oreo chunks), so I don't enjoy wasting time with the ice cream when there are delicious chocolate cookies hiding in the abyss.  

When I eat, I stab through the cream to get to the chunks.  Much like my own life, I am ready to find the good stuff that I know awaits me.  It's out there, I just have to find it.  

I'm also unconventional.  I like to think that I go about doing things not necessarily the 'correct way', but the way that makes most sense to me, which, coincidentally, makes it the 'right way'.

I prefer forks also because they deliver a more painful stab when Jesse tries to steal the big oreo chunks away from me.  And this little feature tells a lot about me because, I am always concerned about how to protect myself and the things dear to my heart.  And quite literally, if you try to steal my oreos away from me, you will receive a swift and severe "pronging".  Don't say I didn't warn you.  

Jennifer Aniston and Her Magical Mane

Just try to argue with me:  Jennifer Aniston has the most perfect hair I have EVER seen.  Silky? Yes.  Shiny?  Yes.  Bouncy?  Yes.  Somehow, her hair is always coiffed to the 't' and not a single strand is out of place.  Is it because she has stylists on speed dial?  Or are her tresses a special, gifted breed?  I don't know, but I would like to think her hair is just naturally beautiful.  That way, it takes the pressure off of me to try to perfectly mimic her haircuts or up-dos.  

I feel like ninety percent of women take pics of Jen to their hairdressers and tell them to make them twins with the celeb.  However, if you will notice, only about one ninth of a percent of women actually have hair that holds a candle to Jen's.  I know every time I go into the salon, I take some sort of picture of Jennifer Aniston and say, "make us twins".  But, every time I leave, the result is nowhere near Jen's quality.  

I am getting my hair cut this weekend and, again, I am taking in a picture of Jennifer Aniston.  I don't know why I don't 'get' that my hair will never look like hers, but I just can't stop trying, even though I know it is neither the hairdresser nor the shears that make Jen's hair so lovable...it is just an intangible essence.  Or maybe, just maybe, it is a government secret like the truth about Area 51 or whether or not the King is still alive.    

Diamonds and Dogs

Who decided diamonds were a girl's best friend?  And why is it that a dog is man's best friend? 

Yeah, I love diamonds just as much as the next girl, but I would rather have a dog as my bff.  I know we girls love our diamonds, but I think it's unfair to say that a diamond is our best friend.  I mean, what does that equate women as a whole to?  Your best friend is someone that knows everything about you, loves you for you, gets along with you, and probably has a lot in common with you.  

So, let's see...if a diamond is a woman's best friend, that means women must be harsh, transparent, require a lot of attention, and are expensive.  I don't really like that comparison.

Men are so lucky.  A dog is their best friend?  Their best friend reflects their loyalty, unconditional love, comfort and affection?  

C'mon, people!!  This is ridiculous and I frankly don't like it.

So, from now on, diamonds can be any girl's best friend, but I am not just any girl.  I am a girl whose girlfriend from college is a diamond, but whose childhood best friend is a dog.  

If y'all need further explanation, reference above paragraphs.