Okay, yes I probably have too many bags for my own good. But that doesn't mean anyone can just willy nilly take my bags and use it without my permission. This is what irks me about my siblings. Now that my brother is in a stay-out camp (apparently god answered my prayers in a humorous way), he assumes ownership over everything that is mine. My computer. My clothes. My books. My papers. My condoms. Okay the last part is just there to exaggerate the point. I don't really mind my brother wearing my clothes, but is the throwing the clothes any ole how, all over the place that really gets me angry. And I don't get angry easily. Oh honey, but when I do, stay out of my way.
Now then there is the issue of my sister. I love my sister. Really I do. Anyone who can get paid that little to put clothes on mannequins just to follow ones passion for fashion (she's a starving VM), really do deserve as much love as possible. But as of late, she has been raiding my bags for her own use. Once again, being the generous person that I am, I really do not mind my bags being carried by her. In fact I sort of like it. But my bags are usually stored with random pieces of things inside the pockets. Like receipts, and random notes and packets of lube (i love the lube the give out freely at clubs and events). And when my sister wants to use the bags, she just empties the stuff on my bed, scattered on the table or sometimes even on the floor. Now if that isn't rude, I do not know what is. My mum once walked in and found condoms and lube on the floor, because of the sister. (true story!)
I am at the point, where I can't stand my siblings. Their almost brazen disrespect for my property annoys me. My attempt at reasoning with them only ends up in shouting and loud arguments, which I seriously cannot be bothered to be involved in. Once I got so angry at my sister's irresponsible antics, I waited for her to get home, grabbed my bag from her and overturned and emptied the bag right at the doorstep. Juvenile. Perhaps. Satisfying? Oh yes. Evil. It better be.
As for the brother, I got him where it hurts the most. Being the owner of the only computer at home, and sole payer of the internet bills, I password protect my computer at all times. No internet access for the brother, until... well, he learns to behave.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Jogging and Music
I didn't go to see the city. I went to see it around you
The recent bouts of rain had really put a damper on my jogging plans.
I changed my jogging schedule from jogging in the morning to jogging after work, in the evening because I can no longer wake up in the ungodly hour of 6am, drag my fat ass out of bed, don the jogging shoes and run round the block. I do not know how I use to do it so religiously, at one point of time, almost every morning.
Jogging in the evenings has it merits though. You are not that tired, so you can actually look around you while jogging. And because you are soaking in the sights, you can also jog further. Then again, there are other joggers too, some who happens to be worth the sights and chase.
Though recently because of global warming – now we can blame global warming for everything, finally a scape goat who can't fight back – the weather has been rather erratic. My plans was right after my nine o' clock show, which ends at ten, I would run around the block a few times, cook up a sweat and then go shower. It was all fine and dandy, when it suddenly just rained. Exactly at ten. Like fuck right. I was so pissed, I even decided to forgo doing my abs exercises. I am exercising like crazy these days simply because I need to pass my IPPT okay. Not for any kind of shallow vanity reasons.
On a more interesting note, I was invited to Zat's Concert and totally enjoyed myself can. Zat, super lar your band. Props to you girlfriend. And I am randomly proud of myself that my designs and art are part, albeit a small part of your concert.
After you have stop staring at the two cute boys, please go ahead and look at the gorgeous paintings in the background. They are all done by yours truly. /no shame/
That's Zat, in all his conducting glory. He has done such a good job, I am sure we all can find it in ourselves to forgive him for that too long of a pant's hem. :P
The recent bouts of rain had really put a damper on my jogging plans.
I changed my jogging schedule from jogging in the morning to jogging after work, in the evening because I can no longer wake up in the ungodly hour of 6am, drag my fat ass out of bed, don the jogging shoes and run round the block. I do not know how I use to do it so religiously, at one point of time, almost every morning.
Jogging in the evenings has it merits though. You are not that tired, so you can actually look around you while jogging. And because you are soaking in the sights, you can also jog further. Then again, there are other joggers too, some who happens to be worth the sights and chase.
Though recently because of global warming – now we can blame global warming for everything, finally a scape goat who can't fight back – the weather has been rather erratic. My plans was right after my nine o' clock show, which ends at ten, I would run around the block a few times, cook up a sweat and then go shower. It was all fine and dandy, when it suddenly just rained. Exactly at ten. Like fuck right. I was so pissed, I even decided to forgo doing my abs exercises. I am exercising like crazy these days simply because I need to pass my IPPT okay. Not for any kind of shallow vanity reasons.
On a more interesting note, I was invited to Zat's Concert and totally enjoyed myself can. Zat, super lar your band. Props to you girlfriend. And I am randomly proud of myself that my designs and art are part, albeit a small part of your concert.
After you have stop staring at the two cute boys, please go ahead and look at the gorgeous paintings in the background. They are all done by yours truly. /no shame/
That's Zat, in all his conducting glory. He has done such a good job, I am sure we all can find it in ourselves to forgive him for that too long of a pant's hem. :P
Monday, November 12, 2007
Tokyo Modernista
I am sadly one of those gay men that are not necessarily born with fabulous sense of fashion and impeccable style. So fashion rules like not to layer stripes on stripes never really made sense to me. And because I rather spend my money on things other than expensive imported fashion magazines, I am trapped in the endless cycle of one fashion faux pas after another. So one of my more mundane and shallow morning rituals is visiting The Sartorialist. Now I have another great website to visit every morning – Tokyo Modernistas. Be forewarned that the looks of Tokyo Modernista is very much a Japanese aesthetics. If you are like me, and is very bored of the very anglo saxon influenced style of The Sartorialist, Tokyo Modernista can be a refreshing inspiration.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Typography 101
Oh dear. Futura being my favorite typeface ever – seriously the clean geometric shapes of the letters just give me mental orgasms – is now being regarded by Design Observer, an authority in the Design blogsphere, as stale and overused. Well, not exactly like that, but the article questions the choice of type Designers made base on frivolous criteria like said type being a favorite. Kind of like what I have been doing for awhile now.
And here, I quickly discovered that something had gone horribly wrong. One after another, bright-faced young hopefuls displayed the products of their long hours in the studio. Book after book spilled forth with content ranging from how to cook a frittata to how to understand Freud. There were personal books, commercial books, literary and poetic books, serious and silly books, childrens books, how-to books, and everything in between.
And there they were — virtually all of them — typeset in Futura.
Choosing a typeface is fun, and making language visible is nothing short of enchanting; in these modern, computationally-enabled days, it's also way too easy to wander and stumble and fall. To fail to address the degree to which design history plays a fundamental role in any typographic course of study is nothing short of tragic.A fundamental read for the designer that cares for typography.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Romanticism and not the art movement
What I really love about working on Christmas projects is the ample amount of illustrating opportunities I get to indulge in. While at heart I am really just an artist who just wants to sketch whimsical monster the whole day, my miserable skills with the pencil, and not to mention the amount of money I am going to make as a full time illustrator (not much), really keeps me at reality bay. So when the holiday hits the businesses with full force, and they don't mind a little illustration in the name of the Christmas spirit, errm... well they hire me. (A designer got to do a little freelancing on the side, to actually afford a humane christmas.)
Designing and illustrating is seemingly similar. Both deal with images, proportions, shapes, colors and composition. But while designing is cerebral and almost devoid of personality, illustrating is a heart-on emotive experience. It's a contrast of writing an instruction manual and writing a heart wrenching novella. An illustrator almost cannot avoid leaving a mark of himself in his work. Designers on the other hand, try their hardest to make the work all about the client.
This client of mine, seems really open to most ideas (except the shirtless boys and girl angels on a huge Santa idea, I wonder why :P) and really is generous with his praises. Being in this industry for awhile, you will learn to differentiate the real praises and critics from the fake ones, but the occasional barrage of praises really does help boost the ego. Here is a tip to get the most from your designer, stroke his ego endlessly. He will work harder for you than a hebrew slave.
I love design work that makes use of illustrations. The presence of an artist's touch in a design makes it all so romantic. Squiggly lines. Rough edges. The process of the work is transparent to the audience Compare this to clean typography, conceptual photography all packed in a sleek glossy print. It is almost fake. The world is not that perfect. No one writes in Helvetica. (Though if you have to write in a typeface, I would rather write in Futura).
Maybe one day, after I am tired trenching down in the dirty world of graphic design, I would settle being a freelance illustrator, of course with typographical wits and wisdom. My days would be busy trying to get inspired and sketching on notepads. Lots of walk in the park and slow lunches. Occasionally an idea would struck, and I would quickly take out my sketchpad (I would of course, carry my sketchpad everywhere I go) and record the idea in sketch. My close friends would just look at each other and sigh at my quirkiness. While those not too close acquaintances would either be drawn to me armed with curiosity or repelled away by the strangeness.
And at the peak of my illustrating career, I would be invited to illustrate huge murals at a new fancy government building, where millions will see and agree unanimously at my ingenuity. I will be awarded the cultural medallion just because I am too old to receive any other award, and I will die, leaving behind sketches more precious than any other public work ever erected in my name.
Designing and illustrating is seemingly similar. Both deal with images, proportions, shapes, colors and composition. But while designing is cerebral and almost devoid of personality, illustrating is a heart-on emotive experience. It's a contrast of writing an instruction manual and writing a heart wrenching novella. An illustrator almost cannot avoid leaving a mark of himself in his work. Designers on the other hand, try their hardest to make the work all about the client.
This client of mine, seems really open to most ideas (except the shirtless boys and girl angels on a huge Santa idea, I wonder why :P) and really is generous with his praises. Being in this industry for awhile, you will learn to differentiate the real praises and critics from the fake ones, but the occasional barrage of praises really does help boost the ego. Here is a tip to get the most from your designer, stroke his ego endlessly. He will work harder for you than a hebrew slave.
I love design work that makes use of illustrations. The presence of an artist's touch in a design makes it all so romantic. Squiggly lines. Rough edges. The process of the work is transparent to the audience Compare this to clean typography, conceptual photography all packed in a sleek glossy print. It is almost fake. The world is not that perfect. No one writes in Helvetica. (Though if you have to write in a typeface, I would rather write in Futura).
Maybe one day, after I am tired trenching down in the dirty world of graphic design, I would settle being a freelance illustrator, of course with typographical wits and wisdom. My days would be busy trying to get inspired and sketching on notepads. Lots of walk in the park and slow lunches. Occasionally an idea would struck, and I would quickly take out my sketchpad (I would of course, carry my sketchpad everywhere I go) and record the idea in sketch. My close friends would just look at each other and sigh at my quirkiness. While those not too close acquaintances would either be drawn to me armed with curiosity or repelled away by the strangeness.
And at the peak of my illustrating career, I would be invited to illustrate huge murals at a new fancy government building, where millions will see and agree unanimously at my ingenuity. I will be awarded the cultural medallion just because I am too old to receive any other award, and I will die, leaving behind sketches more precious than any other public work ever erected in my name.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Glory Train
A majority of us Singaporean commute to work on public transportation, seeing as how it is insanely expensive to own a car. I did my calculation, and it is still cheaper to commute with a taxi everyday, then to actually drive. Nothing wrong with public transportation really. I usually see the peak hour train ride as a glimpse to the slice of the Singaporean life. If you can deal with the crowd, stupidity of people and general discomfort, a train ride can be the most inspiring activity of the day. Though on unfortunate days, a train ride could be the deal breaker for everything else.
And on some fortunate days, you not only get inspired, but get to enjoy the shallow physical beauty of men as well. And when I say men, I mean men, not humanity in general. :)
He stepped in with much purpose. Our gaze immediately caught. Amidst the crowds of hands and heads, it seems we were meant to meet. But alas, non of us had the boldness to do so. He walked in, and stood beside the lady, who was standing beside me. It was a calculated position. To stand not to far, yet not obviously close. As I continue with my gazing of this aloof man, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bible. 'Oh my God,' the inner voice exclaimed. Oh my god indeed.
What we have here, is a god fearing beauty.
And he was a beauty. I was about to excuse the bible as mere theological research that needs to be done in the train – his intense flipping of the pages, focused stare into the word and silent whispering of the word Amen, could only mean that god got him first.
I would not be as bothered if he turns out to be straight (which of course following sexuality statistics, he most likely is). But it is the fact that he is such a god abiding person. And the public display of one's devotion underscores that fact. All of a sudden all hope is lost. My gazing stopped. His prayers must really ward off whatever evil gayness in the train.
However, he inspired me for my next christmas card project. Angel in the train makes a really sweet image don't you think.
And on some fortunate days, you not only get inspired, but get to enjoy the shallow physical beauty of men as well. And when I say men, I mean men, not humanity in general. :)
He stepped in with much purpose. Our gaze immediately caught. Amidst the crowds of hands and heads, it seems we were meant to meet. But alas, non of us had the boldness to do so. He walked in, and stood beside the lady, who was standing beside me. It was a calculated position. To stand not to far, yet not obviously close. As I continue with my gazing of this aloof man, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bible. 'Oh my God,' the inner voice exclaimed. Oh my god indeed.
What we have here, is a god fearing beauty.
And he was a beauty. I was about to excuse the bible as mere theological research that needs to be done in the train – his intense flipping of the pages, focused stare into the word and silent whispering of the word Amen, could only mean that god got him first.
I would not be as bothered if he turns out to be straight (which of course following sexuality statistics, he most likely is). But it is the fact that he is such a god abiding person. And the public display of one's devotion underscores that fact. All of a sudden all hope is lost. My gazing stopped. His prayers must really ward off whatever evil gayness in the train.
However, he inspired me for my next christmas card project. Angel in the train makes a really sweet image don't you think.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
For Cutie
Okay, so my recent bout with Britney's latest album is a crazy one. A confession made with a delirious mind. A confession made after too much electronic tone trash. You see, I do not discriminate my music. But dedicating an entire blog post for my love of Black Out seems rather out of pocket. This morning I woke up, and I hated the album. I still listen to Gimme More, while changing my clothes though. Nothing is more confidence boosting than dancing naked to Gimme More. Just cover all the mirrors.
It's hard for me to settle with what kind of music I like. For the whole of last month, I was listening to Jewel like crazy. During the Dream Girls madness, I listened to the album on iPod, during commute and my toilet break. Yesterday, it was Black Out. I just cannot settle. Not even the genre. I still remember my Andrea Bocelli days, feeling all pompous.
If music is suppose to be a representation of oneself, than I got issues.
Last night, right after my confession Ig immediately MSN me with a huge OMG (and more). Surprised. Shocked. Disappointed. And overwhelmed. I didn't know declaring outright love for Britney, is like a gay men declaring support to the ever vile NMP Thio (see how I smoothly worked in politics into my ever harmless blog post :P).
So I did get myself a couple of Death Cab for Cutie songs.
And I am loving it.
It's hard for me to settle with what kind of music I like. For the whole of last month, I was listening to Jewel like crazy. During the Dream Girls madness, I listened to the album on iPod, during commute and my toilet break. Yesterday, it was Black Out. I just cannot settle. Not even the genre. I still remember my Andrea Bocelli days, feeling all pompous.
If music is suppose to be a representation of oneself, than I got issues.
Last night, right after my confession Ig immediately MSN me with a huge OMG (and more). Surprised. Shocked. Disappointed. And overwhelmed. I didn't know declaring outright love for Britney, is like a gay men declaring support to the ever vile NMP Thio (see how I smoothly worked in politics into my ever harmless blog post :P).
Ig: That's quite enough Wan.
Wan: Toy Soldier sounds a little like Gwen you know.
Ig: I don't really care about Gwen to know that. But listening to Britney is serious!
Wan: It's a new album. I'm trying to like it.
Ig: You got problems.
Wan: Just because I am listening to Britney?
Ig: That, and liking Britney. Do yourself a huge favour and download Death Cab for Cutie. You need some Emo.
Wan: I don't need Emo right now!
Ig: You are listening to trash. Now is a good time for some Emo.
So I did get myself a couple of Death Cab for Cutie songs.
And I am loving it.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Blackout
Graphic designers are a snobbish bunch. They turn their noses up at design they deem cheap and gaudy. They would be quick to discount overly ornate design as mere fashion and stylistic cheap tricks, lacking the intellectual thought and wit. The mere thought of aesthetics for the sake of aesthetics, would anger them, so much so, most of them are usually dressed, head to toe in black, forever pursuing the passion of modernism and perfection of function. That's probably why I don't hang around many graphic designers, even though I am one myself. Graphic designers are a sad angry bunch. They are angry if they are not hired. They get angrier when they are hired working in a studio. And they would probably cast me out from the elite tribes of graphic design, when they hear my next confession.I am in love with Britney's new album, Black Out.
Yes, okay I have to admit. From a graphic designer's perspective, the album cover is pretty horrid. It looks like trash, cheap thrill, amateurish graphic design. And look at the typeface. It makes Britney Spears read like Britney Sperm. But hey we were all there once. But the cover grows on you. Just like the electronic, overly produced sounds that you will hear once you pop in the cd. For my case, its the metaphorical cd, since I got it from a little birdie. ;)
I do not know what it is, but hearing popish, electronic and overly produced hip-hop lite all combined with Britney's robotic voice and sexy whispers is suddenly so refreshing. Imagine this album as Justin's Future.Sex.Love.Sounds, but Britney and more trash. It's Justin gone drag and dirty. It's almost brilliant. This is trashy pop done right.
If you manage to get your paws on the album, listen to the Lil Wayne's Remix of Gimme More. That's the epitome of brilliant hip-hop trash. I love it!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Open letters to Random Things
Dear Computer,
As much as I love your pristine 24inch screen and your delightful design, I am beginning to see the joy and point of mobile computing. Yes. I would gladly sell you and get a less powered, smaller screen but more mobile laptop. Sorry.
Dear Work,
You are beginning to bore me. Even as I take on more challenging projects, some even outside the realms of my expertise (product design and interior design amongst them), you are no longer sending out tingles down my body. I need to be excited like before, but you ain't cutting it for me. If it isn't for the cheque you are sending me every month, I would gladly leave you.
Dear Work Desk,
You must understand that I am a designer. I spent most of my time drawing on large piece of paper, and sometimes on more than one piece. I need the space. You, even with your gorgeous woody grains, and fine construction, are too small. Replacing you would be such a joy.
Dear Alarm Clock,
Why did you scream at me this morning? When i asked you to let me snooze it seemed like just a second had gone by and you started yelling again. I can't live like this anymore. Ever since i got you i haven't slept past 6 in the morning. Why do you feel like you have to control me? I'm just not happy and i refuse to let you do this to me anymore. I'm leaving.
Dear Porn,
Thanks.
Dear Every One Else,
I know you lie awake hoping you will one day attain a mere fraction of my wit and style, but it's just not in the cards. Love ya. ;)
Dear Ditzy brain,
I know you would rather be dancing and playing, but we are at work right now. [whip crack!] So stop giving me ideas for blog post and crazy shit to draw, and focus on the project at hand!
Yours Truly,
Sudirwan J
Bored Designer
As much as I love your pristine 24inch screen and your delightful design, I am beginning to see the joy and point of mobile computing. Yes. I would gladly sell you and get a less powered, smaller screen but more mobile laptop. Sorry.
Dear Work,
You are beginning to bore me. Even as I take on more challenging projects, some even outside the realms of my expertise (product design and interior design amongst them), you are no longer sending out tingles down my body. I need to be excited like before, but you ain't cutting it for me. If it isn't for the cheque you are sending me every month, I would gladly leave you.
Dear Work Desk,
You must understand that I am a designer. I spent most of my time drawing on large piece of paper, and sometimes on more than one piece. I need the space. You, even with your gorgeous woody grains, and fine construction, are too small. Replacing you would be such a joy.
Dear Alarm Clock,
Why did you scream at me this morning? When i asked you to let me snooze it seemed like just a second had gone by and you started yelling again. I can't live like this anymore. Ever since i got you i haven't slept past 6 in the morning. Why do you feel like you have to control me? I'm just not happy and i refuse to let you do this to me anymore. I'm leaving.
Dear Porn,
Thanks.
Dear Every One Else,
I know you lie awake hoping you will one day attain a mere fraction of my wit and style, but it's just not in the cards. Love ya. ;)
Dear Ditzy brain,
I know you would rather be dancing and playing, but we are at work right now. [whip crack!] So stop giving me ideas for blog post and crazy shit to draw, and focus on the project at hand!
Yours Truly,
Sudirwan J
Bored Designer
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