geekdom...now in sans-serif fonts

I am a geek. More specifically, I am a lover of fonts and type faces. To put a finer point on it, I am a lover of sans-serif fonts.

I loathe serif fonts. Times New Roman should be banned. It's just nine kinds of wrong. But I digress...

I am a font geek. At one job, I remarked to a colleague while riding in an elevator that I liked the 36-point font she used. Then I called it by name. She just gave me a deer-in-headlights look. Ten minutes later, she called and asked me the name of the font. I told her, and she confirmed I was right. But I knew that. I know fonts. I like fonts. I also like films and brainiac things like documentary films.

What's worse? I am watching a documentary film about fonts. Seriously. It's fabulous. Find it. Put it in your Netflix queue (Blockbuster doesn't keep it in stock - trust me, you'll wait forever unless you go the Netflix route) or download it in iTunes.

Meet the guy behind Zapf Dingbats or Chancery fonts. Meet the typographer brother of the famous New Yorker music critic. Meet the guy who created the signage for the New York City subway system. Find out how Helvetica font was named (it will surprise you!). This film will open your eyes to fonts. You will look at printed materials and signage in a new way. Watch it. You won't be disappointed. Trust me. :)

01.20.09

HALLELUJAH!
The day has arrived!

Finally.

Here I sit blogging and watching history being made.
I never expected to see this day.
I have chills.
This is one moment I will always remember.

mowshmellow clouds...

First, my assistant introduced me to this video. He kept me laughing hysterically at work when he'd mimic it. Now I've got my man talkin' about "war clouds"...and my ribs hurt. Such happy times, people, happy times...

"I am off my meds and... *whew* ...you know, shit is crazy right now." Hehee.

O friend, my bosom said,
Through thee alone the sky is arched.
Through thee the rose is red;
All things through thee take nobler form,
And look beyond the earth,
The mill-round of our fate appears
A sun-path in thy worth.
Me too thy nobleness has taught
To master my despair;
The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays: First Series, 1841

tempus fugit? hardly...

"We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full." ~Marcel Proust Albertine Disparue


As the year draws to an end, I find myself thinking about the speed at which time passes. It seemingly fluctuates in relation to our desires: it vanishes when life is good and we wish to savor every moment; it lingers in times of adversity.

The truth is, time is constant. It is our human traits of hope and patience that fade, one sand grain at a time. The longer an adversity remains, more sands collect at the base. It is hard to embrace optimism when gravity is not an ally. Reality sucks when you watch the sands keep falling down.

What is most horrifying about these dire economic times is not simply the fiscal devastation affecting millions of hard-working Americans. The saddest fact is not the middle manager's diminished 401K. It is not the devalued portfolio of the seven-figure-earning CEO, nor the forfeited bonus of an auto executive. Those situations are financial inconveniences.

No, the travesty of a recessed/depressed economy is the emotional toll it exacts on everyday citizens. Every day, another grain of sand falls when an hourly blue-collar employee performs a job that doesn't pay well working for a boss who is a despicable ass. He knows he has to suck it up: he's afraid to lose the only job available in town. His frustrations mount as his hopes fade.

Or maybe a woman has been planning to leave an abusive spouse, but cannot afford to leave because her part-time job won't pay her bills if she lives alone. With each verbal and physical blow a few more grains of sand trickle downward. She hopes for a change in the future, but she's not sure she'll survive to escape the reality of the present.

Perhaps it's not as severe as that. Maybe the guy doesn't really love the girl, but he continues living with her because her income is too invaluable to lose. More grains of sand fall every day when they argue about petty domestic issues. Their arrangement drains his resolve to make a better life for himself. He knows it's not the ideal situation, but he tells himself it's better than being alone.

Men and woman aren't the only victims of circumstance. What about the abandoned pets at the local animal shelter whose owners could no longer afford to keep them? It's bad enough to tell a child they must quit their after-school music or gymnastics lessons because it's too expensive. How many grains of sand fall when a parent tells their child that the beloved family dog "ran away" because they're too ashamed to tell little Johnny or Susie the truth? How many parents have secretly taken Buster to the pound because they had no money for pet food? How much does that lie diminish a family's hope for a better future when each day brings more pain?

Worse still, what about the soldier forced to reenlist for another tour of duty - risking his life on the front lines - because there are no jobs for him back home as a civilian?

How much longer can people like this endure the agony that is life today? How many people will commit a crime just so they can be sent to a prison where their basic needs of food and shelter will be met?

The sad thing is that all of these scenarios are plausible. These are all economic realities. In dire financial straits, the number of abuse cases skyrockets. Drunks beat their spouses, children and pets. People stay in jobs they hate, if they're lucky to have one at all. Health gets neglected. Houses and cars get repossessed. Quality of life takes a back seat to everyday survival. It's depressing as hell, and there is no easy solution.

But there's a silver lining in this. The endurance of something atrocious can be a motivator. It can reinforce resilience. It can fuel an otherwise hopeless soul's patience. We learn to be more frugal. We learn to help each other more. We learn to tolerate second choices until we can make it through to the other side. Surviving these harsh times is not unlike boot camp. It's hell, but it's temporary. It's a bitch to endure, but it toughens us and teaches us how to make do with what we've got. Luxuries and creature comforts are postponed but not forgotten. It is our desire to have our desires fulfilled that keeps us trudging on through the muck and mire. Hope of future pleasures makes present pains more tolerable.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite Shakespeare lines: "Though patience be a tired mare, yet will she plod." (Henry V, Act II, scene i)

No, I do not have the life I wanted. I am not living the life I imagined I would have at this point. Like so many people, I am not happy with my present circumstances. In fact, I am angry and bitter and disillusioned. But, like so many others in similar positions, I will trudge on. And when finally I come to know a better reality, I will appreciate it all the more for having endured this nightmare...this annus horribilis.

at least somebody feels joyous...

Bush used the word joyous? Seriously? Chalk up another brilliant analysis from Scott Bateman.

It's 2am and insomnia has me catching up on neglected podcasts. You can subscribe to all of Bateman's video masterpieces at iTunes, or view the archives at Salon's Video Dog page. While Salon surfing, be sure to read the story of my life as told by a 50-something single, celibate woman. All women whose manscape is Sahara dry will now serve tea and sympathy...

Bonnaroo 2009

OK, here's the deal: the economy sucks ass right now. Few people have a couple hundred extra dollars just sittin' around collecting dust on their desk. The thoughtful folks at Bonnaroo realize this, and they've made it even easier to fund the annual summer trip of a lifetime. Pre-sale tickets go on sale this month instead of in February like normal. The five-payment option makes it easy and affordable to get your tickets.

And no, they haven't announced the lineup yet. That usually happens in January, with the headline acts being announced around February or so. Still, it's a moot point. Many bands you love will be there. It's guaranteed. Bands you'll love but haven't heard of yet? They'll be there, too.

Seriously. You should go. You know you've always wanted to. You're probably tired of hearing me extol the virtues of this world-famous Tennessee summer festival. You really should experience it for yourself. Trust me, when the gates open in June of '09, the world could be a very different place. Whether good or bad, you know you will have one helluva good time with 75,000 other people who feel exactly like you: screw our fucked-up government and the perils of the world - let's get our partayyyy on. Or something like that. It's all good. It's communal. And it's something that must be experienced to be believed. Trust me.

Act now. Operators are standing by.

Top 10 Favorite Albums of 2008 poll

NPR Poll: What Are Your Top 10 Favorite Albums of 2008.

Read more about the poll here. Vote now; results will be aired next week.

My choices* (year-end reviews might follow later) include:

1. Elbow
2. Helio Sequence
3. Vampire Weekend
   
4. Shearwater
5. My Morning Jacket
   
6. Wolf Parade
7. Fleet Foxes
   
8. Islands
9. Mates of State
10. Sigur Ros

(*I cannot believe Kaki King's "Dreaming of Revenge" wasn't nominated - it was clearly one of the best albums of this or any recent year. She ranks high among the most phenomenal guitarists ever. Her omission from the lineup is a travesty!)

Tune into NPR's All Songs Considered next week to see which albums receive this year's Best Music laurels...

bull horn o'plenty...

Thanksgiving is normally a tolerable holiday. It involves minimal cooking on my part (or, if I'm making my requested dish, fresh cranberry relish*, it involves no cooking at all) and only moderate driving. Seventy miles each way sure beats the 18-hour commute from Connecticut...

This year, tolerance was not on the menu. It was only the three of us this year, so there were fewer bodies to deflect the tension. Bad idea. I knew a cloud of melancholy would hang over the table since it's only been three weeks since my grandmother died. I was ready for that. I also expected the folks to be a bit gloomy because, in true southern style, they are displeased that their beloved college football team has a horrible season and just fired their coach. I cannot fathom why this is remotely important to them, but still, in an effort to stoke the fires of safe conversational topics, I willingly discussed football with them to the extent that my limited knowledge could sustain it. The conversation, not unlike a badly built campfire, dwindled in minutes.

But what I had not adequately braced myself for was the vicious political attacks. I hoped, foolishly, that a holiday truce would be declared - and honored. Wrong. My right-wing lunatic mother - whose intolerance for my political views is legendary (the woman makes Bill O'Reilly seem taciturn and respectful) - set a new record: I had been in the house all of 7 minutes when she launched into a diatribe. Seeing my tote bag (which was on the floor ten feet away, not even facing her) she hissed, "Take that off!" Having just arrived, I'm thinking, "My fleece? Um, okay..." But instead, I asked, "Take what off?" Thus began Round 1 of the heavyweight holiday political jabfest.

"That Obama-Biden button," she said, disdain dripping from every syllable. I had no idea she had seen it, what with it being on the front of my tote bag which was facing away from her and was now completely covered by my jacket. She had obviously been looking for something to bitch about. Oh, let me tell you: that was a monumentally bad idea. Everybody knows you don't provoke a mean dog and you don't start fights with bullies. And you certainly don't push my political buttons the day after I've had a second root canal in as many weeks and I haven't had my first dose of prescription Vicodin because I can't drive under its influence. But she did...oh, man, did she ever. I went from zero to bitch in roughly 2.3 seconds.

"No, ma'am, I will NOT remove that button. It remains on my bag just as the bumper sticker remains on my car. I am entitled to my own views and opinions, thankyouverymuch," I replied.

"Not in my house, you're not," she replied. So many things went through my head, but I bit my tongue.

She must have seen the warning shots fired from my eyes as I reached for the keys in my bag. My look said, "Keep it up and I'll drive home and you can sulk into your turkey without me." Since she hasn't spoken to my brother in at least 5 years, it would be a sad little holiday if she kept up the taunting.

I thought she let it go, so I proceeded to start making dessert. But nooooo...

She kept harping until I reached critical mass. Over the din of the football game blaring from the TV in the kitchen and the sound of her furiously stirring the mashed potatoes, I calmly stated, "Well, mother, he's going to be your president in exactly 54 days, so it does you no good to start an argument." Then I smiled and pretended, to the best of my ability, that she wasn't standing in front of me, snarling.

The rest of the evening went smoothly. I placated both parents with a homemade dessert and two hours of audio entertainment courtesy of The Vinyl Cafe CD of Holiday Stories. (Note to all members of dysfunctional families: it's hard for anyone to stay in a pissy mood when they're laughing hysterically to the tales of Dave and Morley.) But when it was time to leave, the terrible twosome of right-wing zealotry took a few more cheap shots about the president's so-called disputed citizenship and how the country is going to hell...blah, blah, blah.

I didn't wait around for proper farewells. I grabbed my leftovers and hightailed it home, where I could self-medicate into oblivion. It's sad (though quite common among my friends) that you'd rather spend a holiday at home with a bottle of Vicodin than tolerate a family gathering because your family drives you mad...

One holiday down; two more to go...


*Fresh Cranberry Relish (serves 12)

2 bags fresh whole cranberries
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 cups chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts)
juice from 2 large oranges
zest from 2 large oranges
2T pumpkin pie spice (or nutmeg & cinnamon)
1/2 cup Grand Marnier

Chop cranberries in food processor.
Add remaining ingredients.
Adjust sugars & liqueur to taste.
Store for several hours before serving.
(Even better if made 1-2 days before.)
Serve chilled.

midnight madness...

A midnight movie on a weeknight. Holy hell, I have become a fan.

I abhor excessively commercial, trite literary pablum - especially when its target demographic is the "young adult" crowd.

Confession: I never read even one page of the boy wizard series.

So imagine my surprise when I finally broke down and read the first installation of the teen vampire novel/saga/enterprise. In one sitting. I became one of those people. I also abhor those people - the ones who gush about each plot twist and discuss these fictional characters with such unbridled enthusiasm with their human counterparts that they positively reek obsessive mania.

OK, so I haven't gone that far over the edge. But when all branches of my local library could not provide a single copy of the second book, I did run to the 24-hour box store and purchase it at oh, midnight yesterday. Then I stayed up til dawn devouring every page. (It's a good thing I didn't have to work today.)

After reading the second book, I promptly purchased a ticket for today's midnight showing.

Hmmm...maybe I have gone over the edge. (The last time I stood in line for a midnight opening was for each installation of the Matrix trilogy.) And damn, if I don't have to work tomorrow...

Somebody shoot me. I have become enraptured by cheesy mass-produced writing. In respect to my dearest friend and other talented souls who can actually write, I won't call this author's works "literature" - but damn, if it's not like word crack. I'm jonesin' for a fix. Now I can finally understand what all those Harry fans felt when they sat mesmerized for hours with each new release, unable (or unwilling) to participate in their life until the last page had been turned.

In my own defense, I will offer these points as testimony to why I am predisposed to liking this otherwise unnamed series:

• I am a bibliophile, a nightowl, and a hopeless romantic (these three are key)
• I am a sucker for beautiful - no, painfully handsome men (what woman isn't?)
• I love stories where I can relate to the heroine (this definitely applies)
• I love to drive fast, take risks, defy authority, and break rules
• I love darkness and loud music* but also tranquility and the outdoors (both are central themes)
• I love drizzly, rainy, gloomy weather (another key to setting & mood)
• I kinda sorta have a deep, dark, twisted, erotic thing for vampires (immortality plus super powers is the ultimate fantasy!)

That said, it is little wonder I responded so overwhelmingly to this series. Come midnight, I will finally savor the silver screen version of my fictional escape, in all its technicolor, surround sound, special effects glory.

I can only hope I won't be disappointed.



*OK, it's mildly creepy to me that the author of this series draws inspiration from many of the same bands I love. The playlists available on her Website are eerily similar to my iTunes collection... Does it annoy me that while we've been listening to the same bands for years, her creative fires led to her six-figure contract and untold royalties from the subsequent movies while I've been writing meaningless blogs and research papers for school? Annoying? Hmmmph...