"It's not a parade anymore..."

This was the sentiment expressed to us by a clearly over-it police officer following the Grand Illumination Parade in downtown Norfolk last night, as we were steering our float back to our building. While it echoed much of what I was already musing over, in actuality he was commanding us to turn off the music we still had blaring through the speakers. "Turn that off... It's not a parade anymore."

I have a love/hate relationship with this parade - I adore the work, and the opportunity to get out from behind my desk. I love the problem solving aspects of creating giant pieces and getting them to do what you want them to. And that great feeling when it actually works. I love creating. I love the freedom of it. I would do this kind of stuff all the time and leave the graphic work in the dust if it made any sense to do full time. I love that every now and then you'll hear an old lady in the crowd say, "Now THAT'S a beautiful float," and it seems worth it.

I hate having to depend on other people to make it work, but I LOVE the people that I have. There are a handful I trust to show up when they say they will, do the work they promise to do, and generally not despise me for my nit-picky ways. But, eventually I expect to wear those people thin, and have to replace them with less reliable folks. (And when I say "a handful" I probably mean 2 or 3 tops - they're REALLY hard to come by.)

I hate knowing that no matter what I create for this thing, we will never, EVER win - I just can't cater my taste to the over-cluttered, super-shiny, gaudy cluster that I know the judges love. It's really ok by me if we never win (it matters way more to me that I like the final product), but I hate having to tell people we didn't. I can't manage everyone else's expectations, and I get the vague impression that people don't understand why we keep putting so much work into it it if we never win.

I hate that for every thank you from a kid whose hand you put a candy cane into, you get an equal number of parents screaming at you that they have TWO kids, and need TWO candy canes!!! Even though, at that point, you're twenty feet away, because the parade moves so quickly, and there are 20 billion people on the route. There's some math there that will never balance out.

This year was particularly weird for me because my boss somehow checked out of the whole process. I tried to express my disappointment about this to a friend who really didn't want to listen and I probably should've let it go then, but it's still bothering me. I never signed up to take the whole thing on myself - sure, I'll put in the huge amount of extra hours to make the float happen, but I never wanted to be responsible for organizing the whole event. I don't need the added complications of making sure everyone knows where they're going, and gets there on time, and that all the marketing materials are in order, making sure we get shots to send to the show, and instructing the actors to wave enthusiastically, and realizing at the END of the parade that 2000 promotional candy canes doesn't even put a dent in the number of people at this thing, and we should reevaluate that for next year. She came down once in the process to look at the thing when it was half-finished, and told me to make sure I wrote Star Awards (our internal company award system) for everyone who helped me on it, and was never seen again. I don't want to write Star Awards. I've personally thanked everyone, many times over - if we have to go through bureaucratic process, I'd prefer that didn't fall to me. I'm a designer. I just want to design the thing, let the organize-y people organize and let the leadership lead. And though I'd prepared myself for the moment when she wouldn't show up - she has a new baby and I sympathize - I was still surprised when she didn't.

But on more positive notes, everything went off as hitchless-ly as possible. We made it to and from the parade in one piece (ALWAYS the biggest concern for me), the costumes looked great, and everyone had a good time. And now it's over. As an overwrought cop once said, "It's not a parade anymore."

Design Booze

I'm a sucker for packaging design. I don't always care what the product is or what it does - if it has beautiful packaging, I'm pretty easily inclined to buy it anyway. Or at least spend a good deal of time contemplating it before convincing myself I don't really need a $300 silver-plated panini maker, just because I liked the label.

I'm especially guilty of this practice in liquor stores. Or, most recently, the craft brew section of Total Wine, where I left with a $10 six-pack of 400 Pound Monkey, because the illustration was so freaking delightful.

(As it turns out, it's a light little IPA that's not so bad either.)

And while I've considered stocking an entire bar out of booze with packaging I love, some of it is really pricey. (Not to mention, I'm sure some of it tastes like complete swill.) So here, in no particular order, are a few other beverages I've loved solely for their design.

Frisky Midget

Not ALL my great loves are based in illustration, but this one? Absolutely. (Plus nesting dolls always intrigue me. They're so quirky.)

(P.S. I don't actually drink wine. It's a love that was never meant to be.)

Frozen Ghost Vodka

Gorgeous and totally gives me the creeps. Well done, Frozen Ghost.


1800® Tequila Essential Artists

All of the bottles in this series are very cool, but it was the Gary Baseman one that sold me the hardest. I love tequila, I love mermaids - and amazingly, NEITHER of those things were even the reason. It's the mexican wrestler. I just... I just... love him.


Rush River Beer

Every now and then you see something with really simple design and great typography that is just bare enough to stand out from everything around it. I guarantee there's probably not a glossy finish in their entire product line, and it makes me want to snuggle them.


Grimm Brothers Brewhouse

Yes, it's totally about the illustrations. BUT, everything about the Grimm Brothers brand is working for me. Look at that logo! GAH! I can't even deal.

Kraken Rum

Without a doubt, Kraken has got to be some of the BEST packaging design ever put out into the world. So much so, I'm not even taken by sticker shock at their $1000 custom wallpaper. In fact, I kinda like it. And throw in that lamp for good measure, because that octopus really speaks to me.


I've been thinking I might like to design someone's craft brew, based solely on my love o' booze art. So if anyone makes a crappy beer that needs to be salvaged by some awesome artwork, give a girl a heads up. There might be a trade agreement to be had.

A redesigned blog for a redesigned brain.

I took a very lengthy ten minutes to change my header design this evening. It's pretty fantastic, isn't it? One might think I do this sort of thing for a living. And therefore stop caring about it the instant I get home...

But, I've finally relieved the pressure that blog header was putting on me. The pressure to have an identity. To know what I'm doing. To have a purpose in writing. I never had those things to begin with - I'm not sure why I thought that would change over time.

I may update more often now. Or I may not. But, the open space to write is promising. My social networking efforts are often unpleasantly stalked, putting a significant hitch in my desire to speak openly. And there's no good way around that, other than to shut up entirely. But writing is cathartic... and, mostly, for me, when it's being read. Preferably, by people who won't bring it up in conversation and make me talk about it, when all I was really looking to do was sort something out aloud.

It's been a strange week. Hell, it's been a strange last few years. Emotionally draining, and the recovery time never what it should be. Sometimes it seems that I never "get over" anything anymore. It's a terribly taxing way to live.

So, new header. Same brain. Let's see how it goes.