I try to remember when I was just a child, in my room. My imagination used to run wild, but I never knew…
…that nothing's ever as it seems to be. When a dream collides with the reality.
I keep wanting to use my diary function as a means to complain about my schooling, for what sadistic professor makes an assignment due on a Friday, knowing that 95% of his students do not have class that day, as well aproximately 80% of the class commutes? Because I find it results in a lot of cars being driven into town for no reason other than to hand in 15-20 page reports on a subject we still know nothing about.
Not really, I'm brimming to the ears of RGB and CMYK workflows, multi-purposing raw RGB images, ICC profiles, ISO targets and Calibration vs. Profiling various proofing devices. Blech. Not to mention the steps needed to CREATE profiles, variables such as paper stocks, ink suppliers and irate clients who don't understand that a proof on a high-coated gloss will not look the same as the final product being printed on low-grade newsprint.
Even worse is I see printing all around me, I can not escape what I learn. I critique Tim Hortons disposible coffee cups for dot size and resolution, I make fun of Rexall promotional posters for not using proper traps. I think about calling the classified ads in the newspaper to tell them they should demand their money back because a large paper particle had covered their entire ad (besides the phone number) and created a void hickey.
Not to mention tattooing, for it is dealing with printing as well, on a much smaller scale (jobs of one). Since, tattoo pigment is ink, and human skin is a substrate. Perhaps an internship in a tattoo shop would suffice my 4 months of required sweat-shop-like labour. That or a certain t-shirt company that shall remain nameless for the time being!
I used to be creative, and musical, and all these other good things that expand the mind without being force-fed information. Lately it seems that the only expansion is in the waist, and the only creative element in my life is how to re-arrange words so it is no longer considered plagerism. It's a sad day when even the smallest light is extinguished from a brutal dose of educational reality.
