Photychop Addict

I'm addicted to Photoshop. It's all I can think about during my idle time. In fact, I have no idle time to speak of. I refer to photoshop time as work, yet I do this work in my idle time.

Hmm



When I'm doing the dishes, Thinking about photoshop. When I'm taking pictures, thinking about photoshop. When I'm cleaning my room, thinking about photoshop. When I'm driving... thinking about the Van actually. That may be the only non-photoshop time. Though it's not always non-photoshop. Sometimes I think about photoshoping things on my van. Like so:







I have so many ideas, that I'll never be able to do them all. So prioritizing is so difficult! It ends up that I mostly do the ones that are for other people. Clients, family, friends. But once in a while, when I get to complete a long fiddle with idea, the satisfaction is worth all of the fleeting moments of daydream and distraction.

All of the A.D.H.D. finally comes to an explosive and frantic apogee as the months, or days, or sometimes as little as minutes of brainstorming peak and fall into synchronous order. Chaos becomes control, and imagination and inspiration breeds creation!


I can't get enough of the feeling of satisfaction of creating something in Photoshop, or Illustrator for that matter. InDesign, or Final Cut. Flash.

I just wish they all had the same keyboard shortcuts!

:^p

Afgananda

This morning on CBC Radio there was a feature on Afghanistan and the landmark 100th Canadian Soldier killed in action there.


I've felt emotion when listening to this before, but not like this morning. Remembrance day they had something similar where they named off the names of all those killed. This time I woke up to a story of a father speaking of his son who was killed in 2006. Paul was his son's name. He spoke of how his Son came from a broken family, but had found a woman who came from a stable family and how proud he was of the father and husband his son had become. He spoke of the last moment they looked at one another. Their last eye contact as Paul was about to board the airplane to Afghanistan. He read the final e-mail that Paul sent to his wife and daughter the morning of the day he was killed. And finally he read a letter that he wrote to his son this year, two years after his death.

The letter broke me. I cried. I sobbed as I stood in the shower. I thought of my Van, and my Computer, and my Camera, and all of the so called "problems" I had in my life and how lucky I really have it. And I cried. I bawled like a little girl who didn't get her pony for her birthday. I couldn't believe that tears actually flowed. I'm not a crier. I just don't cry. I've cried maybe a fist full of times in the last few years. But as the reality of this "war" hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. Here I am, free to come and go as I please in this wonderful country, and there are brethren of mine DYING out in the dessert RIGHT NOW. While I was snapping photos of a band and a bunch of models this weekend, 3 men were being killed in service to this country in the middle east. Three men, all younger then me. Dead.


After Paul's father read the letter he'd written to his dead son, CBC ran off the second half of the 100 names of those killed. I couldn't control the tears as the names were all read off. Even with the splash of the hot water from the shower, I was able to feel and taste the reality of my tears. The poured out like a faucet. I listened intently as each soldiers title, rank, name, and most jarring of all; age, were read aloud slowly. Half of these guys were younger then me. They had the same dreams, same freedoms, and same opportunities as I have, and chose to give their lives so that I could maintain that freedom.




I'm thankful for the sacrifice they've made. And happier then every to be alive.


I'm proud of them, and of all the others who are over there, fighting in the dessert.



It's even more evident that I MUST take this trip across our country. The more each day goes by, the more certain I am that it's what I really want to do.




I'm so lucky to be in this position. I'd be a fool not to take advantage of the freedom I have.

Back at School

I Love This Little Guy!