Fun_BulletsForChulaVista_Design

This is yet another futile T SHIRT design for that [wonderful] lump known as Jonathan Edwards College. Specifically, the students of that college.

I cannot fathom how much those people [rock]. These sacks of [smiles] robbed me of my time, my sleep, and my ink. As you can tell from my illustrious history designing shirts for these [people], I was stupid to try again, even after being specifically invited to apply before they even announced the design contest.

After conservatively sending just sketches for feedback on what they were looking for (and lobotomizing the part of my brain screaming, "Why the crack are you wasting your time on these [cool] people; have you not learned anything?!!"), I get an insulting email that refuses the sketches as if they are actual submissions. I guess it's easy to get confused, even after including a specific request for advice on which version I should pursue. This guy goes to Yale.

Cut to several hours laboring on this [happy] project, and not on homework or a comic, until 4 am, then sending an email asking if they'd extend the noon deadline for me to ink. I get an unqualified "that's fine" at nearly 10 in the morning (keep the timeline straight).

I get a few hours sleep since there's church. Afterward I scarf food as fast as I can, open the green light email, then ink for several hours straight. Just before I send the final, I think, you know what would be a wittily bitter message to accompany the image? "This is the part where you give the job to Chittenden."

I greatly respect his colors and whimsy, but the man does every single freaking shirt for JE. Even if he has million-dollar designs, which I frankly do not think is the case--The Game, Rise and Return--why the [joy] does he get every single design job for anything ever by what feels like default? He will probably punch through the hospital wall and name my firstborn child. And everyone will applaud him. So yes, he got the job, a decision which I learned was decided IN THE MORNING, the same time period where I was given the okay to begin inking, as if they were still considering other options. Before sending in the design, I figure I might as well go to dinner and even bump into one of the very chaps involved in the vote, who tries to hawk IMs of all things in my face. No, I don't want to join IMs, do I look athletic? Yes, this same guy goes to Yale.

Recap: the original deadline was noon; they decided "this [Sunday] morning," by definition before noon; that same morning they give me an extension; that evening I go to dinner and endure a frivolous chat with a known voter, submit the piece, and then read the email telling me I wasted my life, complete with cutesy diction as if that makes us square.

This is insane. First: why would you specifically lead me on that I even have a shot at winning these rigged contests--is it because you suspect I greatly dislike you "popular kids," whose names are plastered everywhere when there's some election going on? Second: I try to be as humble and unimposing as possible until I'm licking the grimy dirt off of your shoes, but what the crack (of his!) beat this design? Third: Gloves are off--this college's students have ruined my Yale experience in so many ways I can never forgive them. I don't have a list of people I hate, but if I did, it would now be populated (with asterisks because hate is a strong word).

But don't worry--I get my design used on a banner. YES! SWEET! THAT'S WHAT I SPECIFICALLY SPENT ALL MY TIME AND EFFORT ON. Screw a shirt that will be worn by everyone in the college for years, that will allow me to feel like I actually, tangibly contributed something substantial to this college, like I'm an actual college member, like I actually put aside my disgust enough to serve JE.

No, I won't get anything that I can look at later on to trick myself into thinking that maybe these were "bright college years" after all. "I" get a banner. It will probably get blown over and people will walk on it. It will wear out and join crumpled Heralds in a dingy alley.

Reuxben