August 27, 2014 VIEW POST
I don’t take very many photos any more.
August 22, 2014 VIEW POST
treylane:

katzenclavier

(via itslaurenpham)
Apropos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uj4RBmU-PIo
August 18, 2014 VIEW POST
August 18, 2014 VIEW POST
August 18, 2014 VIEW POST

True Story

Daniel: Hmm, how should we spend our Saturday?
Jackson the Dog: *excited face* *sneeze*
Daniel: I was thinkin', maybe, I don't know... TREATS!?
Jackson the Dog: *runs in a circle*
Daniel: *makes it rain treats* *hits PLAY on some PARTY MUSIC* *dances*
Jackson the Dog: *hops* *hops* *hops*
Daniel: *hops*
August 16, 2014 VIEW POST
mikikoponczeck:

pancakesprince:

naiadestricolor:

coelasquid:

leighanief:

luvlysmilk:

delano-laramie:

Stay away from Fiverr. Promoting this sort of thing is NOT okay.
It’s ruining an industry.

Wtf wow

What bullshit. Yeah, don’t worry people, you’re getting so ripped off, paying an already moderate amount for something your company is young to use and advertise either every minute of everyday for the rest of it’s existence.
Jog like artists need to eat, or pay bills, or have a roof over their heads or anything. Not like they’re PEOPLE trying to make an honest living or anything.

Every time I see that picture on my dash I expect it to be a prank and that I’m going to scroll down and see a bunch of examples of their $5 logos that amount to crudely drawn dicks.

Oh boy, logo mills.  I just want to pull up something from The Graphic Artists Guild Handbook: Pricing and Ethical Guidelines about these kinds of companies.  It’s long but I think it’s worth reading the full thing:

Graphic designers are facing similar assaults on their profession by companies that devalue professional design services by competing unfairly on price with shoddy design, sub-standard services, unfair labor practices, and with no regard to copyright.  So-called “logo mills” are online operations that hire “designers” at ridiculously low rates to pump out off-the-shelf logos that are marketed to consumers at cut-rate prices.  Most of these pre-made logos are simply pieced together clip art with mundane type treatment.  The same logos are sold over and over again.  Buyers can pay higher prices to get a “unique” logo, which means the company promises not to resell the design and the buyer simply owns the copyright as part of the package.  “Customization” may consist of little more than providing the same logo in a different color scheme or with adjustments to the font.
A second type of logo mill offers “original” logos.  The price of their services is based on the number of concepts, rounds of revisions, and designers working on the project (the greater the number, the higher the price), yet their prices are still below the prevailing market rates for professional design services.  Their success, despite such low prices, is due to their abusive labor practices, which treat designers as just another expendable commodity instead of highly-trained professionals.  Logo mills are the digital sweatshops of the design world.  In one such company, designers work on per project basis (earning $25-40 per project) in extremely competitive conditions with no assurance of continued work and no copyright fees.  Designers sign up for a project on a first-come, first-served basis.  Since multiple designers work on a project, they “compete” to have their design accepted by the client.  Successful designers are awarded points as well as a monetary bonus.  Designers are required to critique each other’s work with points being deducted from those whose work is panned.  A loss of points mean that the designer’s fee will be lowered on future projects.
Logo mills have an insidious impact on the perception among business owners regarding copyrights.  By simply ignoring the existence of copyrights in the pricing structure, logo mills are completely devaluing copyrights.  The result is a business community that increasingly is unaware of the existence or value of copyright and unwilling to pay what to them seems to be an unfair or unnecessary fee tacked on a job.

Also, even $100 for a logo (does that even include copyrights or…?) is incredible low.  If you’re curious how much a logo should go for:
Very small businesses (ie law firms, retail, etc.): $1,200-3,000 for a simple logo with all rights included
Minor corporation: $1,200-12,000
Major corporation: $4,000-25,000+
Obviously the price will also depend on the designer’s experience, copyright transfer, how fast the client needs the logo, revisions, tech specs for the logo, etc etc but you get the idea. 
If you’re an artist or designer, don’t go anywhere near companies that will treat you as a commodity.  And if you’re a client, do some research on how much these types of things actually cost and what is involved in the cost.  If you go to one of these companies for design services, you helping perpetuate these gross practices and further undervaluing art/design and copyright.  It’s why the Graphic Artists Guild and their handbook exists, as a resource for both artists and clients.

I would like to input that big big big companies are even willing to spend millions on a logo. 
BECAUSE LOGOS ARE YOUR CORPORATE IDENTITY. YOUR COMPANY’S IDENTITY. it’s like giving a face to your baby.

I usually don’t reblog, but this is important. You thought Deviantart point commissions were a bad joke, this is a whole new level of wtf. The reason people say ‘You can’t live off art’ is because of people who think this is okay.
August 9, 2014 VIEW POST
thisdanobrien:

Buick what the fuck are you talking about.
August 4, 2014 VIEW POST
August 4, 2014 VIEW POST
Westcott Ice Light? More like Westcotr Nice Light. Because it’s nice. And I like it.
August 1, 2014 VIEW POST
losbadlands:

comedycentral:

Use our soundtrack to create your own take on a Drunk History scene and you could be featured on-air during the Drunk History season finale. Find out more at cc.com/drunkfans.

gnarrticles!!!

Well now it has to happen, doesn’t it?
July 16, 2014 VIEW POST
nympheline:

This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.
I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.
The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.
"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"
Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.
Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.
I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.
But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.
"No, I’m good," I said.
"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.
Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—
“Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
Reader, I bought them all.
July 12, 2014 VIEW POST