DESIGN INTERN NEEDED!!!
Date: 2010-06-03, 1:14PM EDT
Reply to: deaftothemuse@craigslist.org
We are looking for a young, OUTSIDE THE BOX designer with FRESH DESIGNS. NO LESS THAN FIVE YEARS WORK EXPERIENCE. Experience in film production, fashion industry, viral marketing, and social media a huge plus. Chinese and English bilingual preferred.
The ideal candidate will be proficient in: Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign, Quark Xpress, Flash, Dreamweaver, Final Cut Pro, AfterEffects, Fireworks, Solidworks, HTML/CSS, pHp, SQL, and Java. Experience in print media, brochure design, web media, ad banners, e-mail promotions, and video post-production a must.
This internship is 9am-7pm Monday-Friday. It is an unpaid internship but you will get valuable portfolio pieces!!!!
Submit resume, cover letter, and samples of your work.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Good Times
I have a bit of an obsession with numbers and number patterns. Every gas total I've pumped in the last three years has been a palindrome, for example. I used to try to hit whole numbers, but when I started paying with a card, a new universe of opportunities unfolded. $25.54, $5.55, $10.01—they always seemed more stable than say, $15.72, or even $20.00, which just has all these zeros hanging off the end of it.
Now I take the subway, though, and I'm not pumping gas. Fortunately, I'm also a compulsive time checker, which is lo and behold a highly compatible neuroticism. Here follows a list of times of note:
Obviously, palindromes:
1:01, 1:11, 1:21, 1:31, 1:41, 1:51
2:02, 2:12, 2:22, 2:32, 2:42, 2:52
3:03, etc.
etc. down though 9:59.
Things get more complicated in the double digits, because there's one more number to palindromize(?). 10:01, 11:11(!), and 12:21 are pretty much your only options. UNLESS you resort to military time, in which case you pick up 20:02, 21:12, 22:22(!), and 23:32. This even opens three new possibilities (13:31, 14:41, 15:51) that transform two previously average-seeming times (2:41 PM, 3:51 PM) into something quite special indeed. BUT even more amazing, one time (1:31 PM/ 13:31) is a palindrome in BOTH military time and regular time. Amazing.
Also, sequences are great: 1:23, 2:34, 3:45, 4:56, and of course the one that even normal people probably take note of, 12:34. 12:48 is a geometric sequence, as are 1:24, 2:48, and 1:39. Some have reverses as well: 3:21, 4:32, 5:43, 6:54, 4:21, 8:42, and 9:31.
22:44 also seems worth pointing out, as do 11:22 and 22:11. 11:23 represents the first 4 numbers of the Fibonacci Sequence, and 16:18 is the golden mean, though the decimal place is off. 3:14 is Pi. There are quite a few numbers that are primes, of course, but that never really seemed special enough to me. Doubles are nice too: 10:10, 11:11 (already noted), and 12:12.
Many of these also happen twice a day (AM/PM), which makes 2:22 seem extra special.
Accounting for the times that occur twice, there are 2(54+24)+10 times I like every day, which comes out to 166. There are 1440 minutes in a day. This means on average there's a time with some kind of mathematic pattern once every 9 minutes or so.
This is definitely not important, and I can't and won't try to convince you that it is. I guess all I'm saying is that there are always things to notice. Which, it seems, may be why I'm always so distracted.
Now I take the subway, though, and I'm not pumping gas. Fortunately, I'm also a compulsive time checker, which is lo and behold a highly compatible neuroticism. Here follows a list of times of note:
Obviously, palindromes:
1:01, 1:11, 1:21, 1:31, 1:41, 1:51
2:02, 2:12, 2:22, 2:32, 2:42, 2:52
3:03, etc.
etc. down though 9:59.
Things get more complicated in the double digits, because there's one more number to palindromize(?). 10:01, 11:11(!), and 12:21 are pretty much your only options. UNLESS you resort to military time, in which case you pick up 20:02, 21:12, 22:22(!), and 23:32. This even opens three new possibilities (13:31, 14:41, 15:51) that transform two previously average-seeming times (2:41 PM, 3:51 PM) into something quite special indeed. BUT even more amazing, one time (1:31 PM/ 13:31) is a palindrome in BOTH military time and regular time. Amazing.
Also, sequences are great: 1:23, 2:34, 3:45, 4:56, and of course the one that even normal people probably take note of, 12:34. 12:48 is a geometric sequence, as are 1:24, 2:48, and 1:39. Some have reverses as well: 3:21, 4:32, 5:43, 6:54, 4:21, 8:42, and 9:31.
22:44 also seems worth pointing out, as do 11:22 and 22:11. 11:23 represents the first 4 numbers of the Fibonacci Sequence, and 16:18 is the golden mean, though the decimal place is off. 3:14 is Pi. There are quite a few numbers that are primes, of course, but that never really seemed special enough to me. Doubles are nice too: 10:10, 11:11 (already noted), and 12:12.
Many of these also happen twice a day (AM/PM), which makes 2:22 seem extra special.
Accounting for the times that occur twice, there are 2(54+24)+10 times I like every day, which comes out to 166. There are 1440 minutes in a day. This means on average there's a time with some kind of mathematic pattern once every 9 minutes or so.
This is definitely not important, and I can't and won't try to convince you that it is. I guess all I'm saying is that there are always things to notice. Which, it seems, may be why I'm always so distracted.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Arrival
SIng, O Muse, of a man and a bag. A bag with a broken wheel, no less, which you can be damn sure made navigating the subway system a nightmare of high-friction surfaces. After two days on the road w/ Adam (study abroad roommate and friend) from Chicago to Philadelphia, followed by a two-hour jog on the Bolt Bus to Penn Station, I'm literally dragging my life down escalators—and my life, apparently, is in no mood to move. About 60% percent of my luggage is musical equipment, and right now it feels like 80% of net weight. The existential crisis presented by do-I-bring-acoustic-or-electric-guitar was resolved by: both. The truth, as usual, lies not in either extreme but somewhere in the middle.
Regret sets in, though, mid-turnstile. Logistic challenges present themselves left and right. The triumphant step and confident stride of the anticipated cinematic montage of my arrival has been replaced with a somewhat less-heroic reality of trudging backward down Brooklyn streets dragging my suitcase, trying to balance my perilously-duct-taped bookbag on top as the sidewalk grinds through my luggage.
Elisia mercifully rang up one of the future loftmates to lend me a hand once I got out to Bushwick and things started going more smoothly. Before long, we reached the McKibbin loft, my residence for the next month. Outside the front door, a mountain of discarded furniture and books is being picked over by young-artist looking types sizing up the relative merits of different particle board shelving units. I.e. This one has a weird stain, but the shelves are all intact, whereas that one may have actually been thrown out the window. Besides the shelving, there's an a array of beat up but actually quite well-selected literature, frisbees, t-shirts, and pregnant black garbage bags that do not invite further inquiry. The few clothes hangers lying about are being scooped up with the casual deliberation of choosing apples at the supermarket. The mood is festive.
The neighborhood is what I'll elect to call "industrial-chic". McKibbin itself, in terms of aesthetic and aroma, is something like an unfinished basement, though not unpleasantly so. I'm not sure how many people live in the building, but it's a lot. The same goes for our loft. There's a christmas-tree-light-lit practice space in the basement with a drum kit, amps, guitars, a PA, and a neatly swept pile of cigarette butts and dirt from the last show they threw in the space. The view from the roof (6-ish floors?) is fantastic. Manhattan beckons.
I answer the call later, making a trip down to the Kmart south of Union Square to pick up a couple things. It's 10 PMish but the subway bustles. A bleach-blond girl in ray bans covers "Fake Plastic Trees." At Kmart I pick up a cheap tent and air mattress and head back to Mckibbin to set up camp. Elisia and I set up the tent and I hang my clothes up on a stepladder.
At around midnight I hit up a local bar for a couple drinks with two of my new loftmates and unwind. The bartender pours our drinks strong, which I appreciate.
Around 1:30 (in memoriam, everyone) I head back to the loft. As I settle into the sleeping bag, I gaze upward through my tent's advertised "Night Sky Viewing Mesh!" Never has the night sky seemed more beautiful.
Regret sets in, though, mid-turnstile. Logistic challenges present themselves left and right. The triumphant step and confident stride of the anticipated cinematic montage of my arrival has been replaced with a somewhat less-heroic reality of trudging backward down Brooklyn streets dragging my suitcase, trying to balance my perilously-duct-taped bookbag on top as the sidewalk grinds through my luggage.
Elisia mercifully rang up one of the future loftmates to lend me a hand once I got out to Bushwick and things started going more smoothly. Before long, we reached the McKibbin loft, my residence for the next month. Outside the front door, a mountain of discarded furniture and books is being picked over by young-artist looking types sizing up the relative merits of different particle board shelving units. I.e. This one has a weird stain, but the shelves are all intact, whereas that one may have actually been thrown out the window. Besides the shelving, there's an a array of beat up but actually quite well-selected literature, frisbees, t-shirts, and pregnant black garbage bags that do not invite further inquiry. The few clothes hangers lying about are being scooped up with the casual deliberation of choosing apples at the supermarket. The mood is festive.
The neighborhood is what I'll elect to call "industrial-chic". McKibbin itself, in terms of aesthetic and aroma, is something like an unfinished basement, though not unpleasantly so. I'm not sure how many people live in the building, but it's a lot. The same goes for our loft. There's a christmas-tree-light-lit practice space in the basement with a drum kit, amps, guitars, a PA, and a neatly swept pile of cigarette butts and dirt from the last show they threw in the space. The view from the roof (6-ish floors?) is fantastic. Manhattan beckons.
I answer the call later, making a trip down to the Kmart south of Union Square to pick up a couple things. It's 10 PMish but the subway bustles. A bleach-blond girl in ray bans covers "Fake Plastic Trees." At Kmart I pick up a cheap tent and air mattress and head back to Mckibbin to set up camp. Elisia and I set up the tent and I hang my clothes up on a stepladder.
At around midnight I hit up a local bar for a couple drinks with two of my new loftmates and unwind. The bartender pours our drinks strong, which I appreciate.
Around 1:30 (in memoriam, everyone) I head back to the loft. As I settle into the sleeping bag, I gaze upward through my tent's advertised "Night Sky Viewing Mesh!" Never has the night sky seemed more beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
