I met a muse. But she wasn't my muse. I told her I admired her and other muses and I often thought that if I could chose to be anything, I would love to be a muse.
She said that I was being stupid.
What a bitch.
She then explained herself. A muse, as rewarding as it might seem to be, is in reality just legalized theft. She is the inspiration to many many people. She is the reason behind people's ideas or actions. She sends people on successful paths. What does she get out of it?
Nothing, she said. Not anymore at least.
In the beginning, this muse said it was flattering. She helped people. People naturally felt inspired around her. She was infectious. Her energy. Her ideas. Her zest for living life to the full potential.
She rubbed off on people and their lives subsequently improved.
In some cases, they improved in unbeleivable ways.
She said she met a boy who had nothing. No high school diploma. No car. No job. No girlfriend. No future. Nothing. Four years after they had met, he got his GE, landed a job, bought a car AND a home, and got married.
She met another guy who abandoned his family at the age of 18 and was living in the living rooms of random houses, doing speed. No degree. No job. No car. No girlfriend. No future. Five years later, the man reconciled with his family, quit doing speed, moved back home, found a job, bought a used car and is dating a nurse.
Her long time friend didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. She started college under a major she thought she would enjoy. A year after meeting her muse, she changed majors, graduated with honors and is working her dream job.
This muse has met countless lost, weak, insecure souls only to turn them around and send them on a more positive path.
She always left people better than when she found them.
How can she not take these things as compliments, I asked? She's changing people's worlds and she didn't have to do much. It's beautiful. I told her she was stupid for complaining.
As she looked around, she leaned in closer and whispered, "As happy as I am for the people I've touched, I can't help but to feel a tinge of jealousy that I haven't met my muse yet."
She continued her rant. She confessed it sucked to see everyone around her succeed and flourish and be happy and she stays the same. It especially sucks these people don't even realize that she's their muse. She gets no credit. She gets swept under the rug and she's forgotten as these people are engulfed in their new life.
I didn't know how to sympathize. I've never had a muse, either ... so I tried and offered her my two cents: Maybe she was more blessed than these lost, weak, insecure souls. Maybe she doesn't need a muse as much as they did.
I don't know.
She looked at me, sucked it up and smiled. She gave me a hug, and without a word walked away.
I sat there thinking about what she said. I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. She didn't give herself enough credit.
But I guess most people don't.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Onward, ho
I'm in my third week of school. It doesn't seem that long, but that's because things have been going slow. The first month of school is usually the worse since it covers the basics of all basics.
To further my education in graphic design, I'm taking two classes this semester: Intro to digital media and digital imaging.
Either class shouldn't be too difficult, but there is a lot to learn. In the intro class, I'll be using programs I have never used before. And the digital imaging class is basically a photoshop class, which is a program I only know the basics in.
The teachers in my field are simply amazing. Adam teaches the intro class and the guy looks like a vegan who hugs trees in his spare time. I don't think he's hit his 40s yet, but his shoulder-length hair and beard look like they're greying. He gives off a hippie vibe where everything is art. Even silence. I'm not particularly a fan of this type of assessment of art, but maybe I'm just an elitist. Either way, he seems overly nice and I have a feeling a lot of people are going to walk all over him.
Wendy, my digital imaging instructor, is amazing. She reminds me of me. I would have the same teaching style as her if I ever became a teacher. Her common sense, no bullshit type attitude rocks and I wanted to hug her after the first hour of class on the first day.
My first project for this class is a scannogram. We have to compose an image using a scanner. The image had to depict who we are. Or something. Here's mine.
To further my education in graphic design, I'm taking two classes this semester: Intro to digital media and digital imaging.
Either class shouldn't be too difficult, but there is a lot to learn. In the intro class, I'll be using programs I have never used before. And the digital imaging class is basically a photoshop class, which is a program I only know the basics in.
The teachers in my field are simply amazing. Adam teaches the intro class and the guy looks like a vegan who hugs trees in his spare time. I don't think he's hit his 40s yet, but his shoulder-length hair and beard look like they're greying. He gives off a hippie vibe where everything is art. Even silence. I'm not particularly a fan of this type of assessment of art, but maybe I'm just an elitist. Either way, he seems overly nice and I have a feeling a lot of people are going to walk all over him.
Wendy, my digital imaging instructor, is amazing. She reminds me of me. I would have the same teaching style as her if I ever became a teacher. Her common sense, no bullshit type attitude rocks and I wanted to hug her after the first hour of class on the first day.
My first project for this class is a scannogram. We have to compose an image using a scanner. The image had to depict who we are. Or something. Here's mine.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Dream come true
Back in college, I once shared a conversation with a group of friends about our future goals and dreams. As literary journalism students (and if you don't know what literary journalism is, look it up), we discussed how awesome it would be to start our own magazine.
As gonzo students (with a variety of other talents), our make-believe magazine would be full of well written, interesting, worth-the-read stories. They wouldn't be capped at 10-15 inches like they are in papers. These stories would be in-depth, creative, witty. What I like to a call a-fan-fucking-tastic-read.
The magazine would be vibrant. We would take photos. We would create beautifully designed layouts. We would incorporate all of our talents into one publication. It would be brilliant.
Too bad we were just undergrads with a vision. No one had the money to launch a magazine from the ground up. And it was unlikely we would get anyone interested to invest in such an idea.
We all eventually graduated and walked down our separate paths. Sadly, all of my friends don't even use their Lit-J degrees. I'm the only one in the field.
Not only do I feel lucky work in the field I invested in during college, but I am proud to write I recently published an alternative magazine in the Santa Clarita Valley.
That dream I had in college came true.
Last Sunday, altSCV finally made its debut. After months of back-and-forth between management, the publication finally made its way into this world and (hopefully) it is here to stay.
The magazine is the SCV's first alternative publication, and it's my fucking baby. I have never worked so hard for anything at The Signal. Writing for the publication is open to anyone interested in submitting material. It just so happens 99% of the people who write for the it are my friends. Or at least people I have met through the Internets and can now call them friends.
As soon as I was named publisher of the thing, I had complete control over pretty much everything. That's when the game changed. As an editor of a publication, I don't have complete power of what I can and cannot run. I have to watch out for red flags and then ask the appropriate people for approval.
Most of my other publication also have rules. They have a specific purpose or a specific audience to cater to.
Not with altSCV. Guess who can do whatever her little heart desires? This bitch.
If another source wants to reprint anything printed in altSCV, guess who it has to ask for permission to republish? This bitch.
If the designer wants to put a dildo in the publication, guess who gives him the go ahead? That's right! This bitch.
(Which we totally did for the upcoming issue coming out this Sunday.)
altSCV is my perfect baby. I have complete control. Of what runs inside. Of what topics to cover. Of what language I can permit. Of how it looks.
This is more than a dream come true. It is an opportunity to expose the type of journalist I internally am. I don't have to follow those silly daily journalism rules. I don't have to worry about pissing off subscribers because there are none! It's a free publication. You don't like it, don't read it.
I am excited to have the opportunity to publish stories and opinions that would be denied in The Signal or my other publications. And as an advocate of the gays, I am the most excited to finally give the LGBT community a voice. It's about damn time.
The goal of altSCV is to provide SCV residents a publication with intelligent content, that is pretty to look at (as pretty as it can be given it is being printed on really old machines) and that readers get a laugh when flipping through the pages.
So far, so good.
I want to thank those who have supported me in putting this together. I appreciate the kind and supportive words throughout the rollercoaster ride. And of course, this publication would be shit without out my brilliant writers (aka friends!) Thank you for being a part of a my dream come true.
Oh and watch out for my gnome, Addyson. He will appear in each issue.
#win
As gonzo students (with a variety of other talents), our make-believe magazine would be full of well written, interesting, worth-the-read stories. They wouldn't be capped at 10-15 inches like they are in papers. These stories would be in-depth, creative, witty. What I like to a call a-fan-fucking-tastic-read.
The magazine would be vibrant. We would take photos. We would create beautifully designed layouts. We would incorporate all of our talents into one publication. It would be brilliant.
Too bad we were just undergrads with a vision. No one had the money to launch a magazine from the ground up. And it was unlikely we would get anyone interested to invest in such an idea.
We all eventually graduated and walked down our separate paths. Sadly, all of my friends don't even use their Lit-J degrees. I'm the only one in the field.
Not only do I feel lucky work in the field I invested in during college, but I am proud to write I recently published an alternative magazine in the Santa Clarita Valley.
That dream I had in college came true.
Last Sunday, altSCV finally made its debut. After months of back-and-forth between management, the publication finally made its way into this world and (hopefully) it is here to stay.
The magazine is the SCV's first alternative publication, and it's my fucking baby. I have never worked so hard for anything at The Signal. Writing for the publication is open to anyone interested in submitting material. It just so happens 99% of the people who write for the it are my friends. Or at least people I have met through the Internets and can now call them friends.
As soon as I was named publisher of the thing, I had complete control over pretty much everything. That's when the game changed. As an editor of a publication, I don't have complete power of what I can and cannot run. I have to watch out for red flags and then ask the appropriate people for approval.
Most of my other publication also have rules. They have a specific purpose or a specific audience to cater to.
Not with altSCV. Guess who can do whatever her little heart desires? This bitch.
If another source wants to reprint anything printed in altSCV, guess who it has to ask for permission to republish? This bitch.
If the designer wants to put a dildo in the publication, guess who gives him the go ahead? That's right! This bitch.
(Which we totally did for the upcoming issue coming out this Sunday.)
altSCV is my perfect baby. I have complete control. Of what runs inside. Of what topics to cover. Of what language I can permit. Of how it looks.
This is more than a dream come true. It is an opportunity to expose the type of journalist I internally am. I don't have to follow those silly daily journalism rules. I don't have to worry about pissing off subscribers because there are none! It's a free publication. You don't like it, don't read it.
I am excited to have the opportunity to publish stories and opinions that would be denied in The Signal or my other publications. And as an advocate of the gays, I am the most excited to finally give the LGBT community a voice. It's about damn time.
The goal of altSCV is to provide SCV residents a publication with intelligent content, that is pretty to look at (as pretty as it can be given it is being printed on really old machines) and that readers get a laugh when flipping through the pages.
So far, so good.
I want to thank those who have supported me in putting this together. I appreciate the kind and supportive words throughout the rollercoaster ride. And of course, this publication would be shit without out my brilliant writers (aka friends!) Thank you for being a part of a my dream come true.
Oh and watch out for my gnome, Addyson. He will appear in each issue.
#win
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