Santa Monica's still got no chance
I'm tired, yet the urge to write overtakes me and thus you, dear reader, will now be subjected to the sweet monotony of my day...
Ok, so it wasn't so sweet that it deserved such an illustrious intro, but it wasn't so exciting that it doesn't call for something a little strange to drag you in.
Today was pretty slow and boring. Did some laundry, ate some food, contemplated cleaning, blah, blah, blah. If there was a high point, it would probably be making a fake Wal-Mart vest and getting someone to wear it tomorrow for a shoot. I'm still not sure if I should do it in the mall in front of the Swarovsky tree or in our temporary studio at the office, but I've got until 10.30 tomorrow (when the subject gets downtown) to figure it out...
As for the case study--it's been handed in and awaits its lousy mark. All that remains is writing my half of the group "take home exam." It's not really an exam, and I'm not even really taking it home except to print. But, it's Ryerson, and therefore not supposed to make sense.
Shockingly enough, there's only 11 days left until I'm a Ryerson Alumni. Already I've started the process of looking back at my experience and saying "what the fuck was that?" Contrary to popular belief it hasn't "flown by" as the well-wishers and motivational guest speakers would have you believe. It's been a long bloody time, enough so that my first harsh year in the T-dot is starting to fade from bitter memories to sweet nostalgia. Failed romances with pretty girls, failed hopes of becoming self-employed, and failed attempts to fit in will soon become "the times I scored," "my entrepreneurial adventures," and "discovering my individuality." Soon I won't remember the rough times and only remember that Ryerson is a gosh-darn good place.
And it is. It really is a good school if you don't follow my path: Don't get involved, don't try to make it better, don't aim high or dream big. It's those things that killed me, and those things that King Levy's jungle has tried to kill in me. Will my ambition ever come back from the Pallative Care ward? Maybe someday soon it'll be climbing out of a taxi in the driveway, fresh from Outpatient with a new outlook after the pep talk of a lifetime from Nostalgia the cab driver.
Ok, so it wasn't so sweet that it deserved such an illustrious intro, but it wasn't so exciting that it doesn't call for something a little strange to drag you in.
Today was pretty slow and boring. Did some laundry, ate some food, contemplated cleaning, blah, blah, blah. If there was a high point, it would probably be making a fake Wal-Mart vest and getting someone to wear it tomorrow for a shoot. I'm still not sure if I should do it in the mall in front of the Swarovsky tree or in our temporary studio at the office, but I've got until 10.30 tomorrow (when the subject gets downtown) to figure it out...
As for the case study--it's been handed in and awaits its lousy mark. All that remains is writing my half of the group "take home exam." It's not really an exam, and I'm not even really taking it home except to print. But, it's Ryerson, and therefore not supposed to make sense.
Shockingly enough, there's only 11 days left until I'm a Ryerson Alumni. Already I've started the process of looking back at my experience and saying "what the fuck was that?" Contrary to popular belief it hasn't "flown by" as the well-wishers and motivational guest speakers would have you believe. It's been a long bloody time, enough so that my first harsh year in the T-dot is starting to fade from bitter memories to sweet nostalgia. Failed romances with pretty girls, failed hopes of becoming self-employed, and failed attempts to fit in will soon become "the times I scored," "my entrepreneurial adventures," and "discovering my individuality." Soon I won't remember the rough times and only remember that Ryerson is a gosh-darn good place.
And it is. It really is a good school if you don't follow my path: Don't get involved, don't try to make it better, don't aim high or dream big. It's those things that killed me, and those things that King Levy's jungle has tried to kill in me. Will my ambition ever come back from the Pallative Care ward? Maybe someday soon it'll be climbing out of a taxi in the driveway, fresh from Outpatient with a new outlook after the pep talk of a lifetime from Nostalgia the cab driver.