Di-orama

It started about 6 years ago with a sketch.

She wore pigtails and owned a wardrobe of three dresses - green, red and purple.

Some days, when she was feeling a little more adventurous than usual, she wore a dress with a pocket.

For the most part, she was a sad little girl. Where her sadness stems from, I'm not entirely sure - but I feel its at least partially due to her lack of facial features and hands.

Since her creation, she's popped up in my sketchbook on a regular basis, usually during the most inopportune times. Like when I'm inside on a sunny day trying to think of ideas to sell orange juice to mothers.

But sometimes she helps me out. A few years ago, she made her local debut in my first ad ever produced.

It was for a used record shop.

The last I've seen of her was about a year ago, when she starred in her own limited edition comic strip, "Bad at Life".

So, when it came time to start thinking of an idea for my portfolio website, the decision was easy.

I was going to take my sad little girl with no hands and make her famous.

A real internet star.

But to do that, I couldn't just do a sketch.

Oh no.

Her worldwide debut couldn't be reduced to a sketch.

It had to be something bigger.

Something that would be beyond my little girl with no hand's wildest imagination.

Like her very own place.

A sad apartment.

With sad walls.

And on her sad walls, she could hang her very own sad art.

But, most importantly, it could be sad three-dimensional art.

So I bought her a nice little space on the web, and started building.

And building.

And building.

My friends and I hosted nights dedicated just for building.

I even videotaped the building.

And, after about two and a half months of building, I stopped.

And started building in photoshop.

And, for the last 48 hours, I've been installing the wiring in her house using dreamweaver.

Finally, 6 long years of 2D slavery ended early this morning, when my sad little girl with no hands jumped off her piece of paper and into the world wide web.

Now, without further ado, I present to you (drum roll, clearing throat, etc., etc.)


Her website:





If you'll notice in the upper right hand side of the page, there is a large black box with a tiny box within it.

Now, I don't know much about "technology", but I'm pretty sure that tiny box is supposed to be a big picture. More specifically, a big picture of my sad little girl in her sad little room with her sad little art.

If anyone has a clue how to code for firefox, she would be much obliged.

After all, you have to be when you have no hands.

On Puppetry

I went to a local advertising award show on Friday night, and noticed that at the bottom of one of the credit lists was 'puppet maker'. And I thought to myself.....hey, I should really do that for a living.

Make puppets.

I feel like I would be really happy. And I know that everyone would support me in my choice because they know how much I love to build things.

But then I thought about it a little more.

Although they would be very supportive, I'm sure half the reason why my friends and family would encourage me is because they have never met anyone so fascinated by puppets. Or don't really know what it takes to be a good puppeteer. In fact, I'm not even sure I know what it takes to make a good puppeteer.

And, in reality, I'm sure there is this whole puppet world out there and people in it who have more talent and passion for the craft than I could ever imagine. And, I would realize this, as soon as I went on my first puppet interview, diorama in hand. I would see at least 12 other hack puppeteers/diorama makers waiting in line before me. But they all know how to sew, and they would be able to make 2 puppets a minute. And the ones who can't, would have parents who were famous puppeteers in the 80's so they are well connected and would get jobs as interns and move their way up the puppet ladder.

But what if I'm wrong? What if I AM cut out for the business? Surely the novelty of making puppets will wear off after a few years. And then what? I will have killed the only thing that has ever made me happy.

No.

No, I couldn't possibly enter that world. I had better stick to what I know. Copywriting.

And even if I feel like I don't want to do it sometimes, I just spent the last 6 years and way too much money to get a good job in advertising. I can't start over now.

Or can I?

If anyone has a good lead for an open master puppeteer's assistant position, you know how to contact me. Until then, heres a video with dancing zombie puppets.

Dear Strayer University Marketing Department,

Please refer to previous posting below. Except, instead of quitting your band, kill yourself.

All my best,

Diana - graduating in May

Dear Tony,

Quit your band.

You and your super perceptive powers would be much better suited for a career in super-perception. I think you would make a great super-perceiver.

All my best,

Diana from Richmond

ten and a half bowling ball shaped holes in my floor

Every big presentation day, I feel like I am standing in front of my class, completely naked, trying to explain how great my boobs are.

I never think about what to say about them beforehand, because I'm always too pre-occupied with putting on the final touches before their grand reveal, so when the moment comes, and I realize that everyone in the room, including my partner, is looking at my chest with a blank expression, I panic.

I start saying things like 'they're charming...or at least trying to be..ha ha ha!' and share embarrassing stories - from my time I was fitted for a training bra to the time I was felt up on the back of a bus during a band field trip.

And after I've finished talking, there is an uncomfortably long moment of silence.

As I fumble to put my clothes back on, the professor asks my classmates what they think of my work. Someone will inevitably raise their hand and comment on how one boob looks a little bigger than the other or politely suggest I consider a bra with a little more support.

The professor nods.

Blushing, I wander back to my seat, sit down, and spend the rest of the day wondering if nobody was interested in my boobs because they were just too tired, or bored from seeing so many boobs before mine.

Or, perhaps, they just speak for themselves.

And I'm blogging right now why?

Have you ever felt like you are trying to juggle a dozen and a half bowling balls, and you aren't really sure how or why you have these bowling balls in the first place, but you know that if you don't catch them all, something really bad will happen, so you throw them up in the air, all at once, and just try to catch as many as you can as they come barreling down, but you know deep in your heart that your efforts to catch even one is in vain and will ultimately result in a dozen bowling ball shaped holes in the floor of your bedroom because you never properly learned how to juggle, your right arm is tied behind your back and your left hand is horrifically mutated?

Me too.

I'm famous! I'm famous!

You can expect my book to hit bookstores this May.

new theory

But first, two questions:

1. What month were you born in?

2. What is your favorite time of year?


Before you answer, think long and hard.


....



If you are like me, (as Liz Gershman is) you would say that you were born in the month of July (more specifically July 20th, 1982) and that, while you appreciate all seasons, Fall, is most definitely, your favorite time of year.

Have you figured it out yet?

I've tested this theory on a handful of people, and, so far it rings true with everyone.

...

The month or season you were conceived is your favorite time of year.

Makes sense, right?

No?

Prove me wrong.

Regardless of your opinion, expect to see my book in a bookstore near you soon.