inspiration
Observations on an Early Saturday Morning
Feb 15th
It’s a sweltering 7° Fahrenheit as we pull into Park Falls, Wisconsin for the Price County Democrats’ February meeting. The air smells of wood furnaces, and swarms of snowmobiles wait patiently to peel across the busy highway that defines the downtown strip. A sign at the bank informs: ATMs Now Here.
Well, it’s about Tyme.
Private (Vomit) Practice
Jan 24th
Get out that big imagination paintbrush in your brain:
As I write this, I’m laying in bed with my girlfriend. Naturally, I am building a database and naturally and she is watching Private Practice. It’s her guilty pleasure – a stress relieving wind-down before bed. All of the sudden I hear a familiar voice – the voice of Mark Sloan. Yes, Mark Sloan of Grey’s Anatomy fame. Now, I know what you must be thinking. You recognize his voice? What a doofus.
But, yes. Yes I do recognize his voice. You know why? Because. Because there have been many nights that while I was working, she was watching Grey’s anatomy – enough so that I’ve loosely become familiar with the shows.
So fuck me in the ear: what the fuck is Sloan (McSteamy that is, not his daughter – whose first name is Sloan but last name is Riley) doing on Private Practice? I shit a brick. A huge brick. I turn and ask, “Why is McSteamy on Private Practice? That is his nickname, right? And the other one is McDreamy?” She tells me I’m right, after which I pull open the elastic of the oversized women’s basketball sweatpants I’m wearing and vomit into my underwear.
Fake doctor shows have cross-over episodes. Holy fuck. What is the world coming to? I’d rather vomit on my balls than deal with this nightmare.
So, I write this, and relocate to the dining room table.
Driving by Lake Michigan
Sep 14th
I could have easily taken the highway home—I usually do—but this morning, I couldn’t smell the fermenting human–waste algae and dead fish wafting over the art museum and into downtown. So I rolled along the coast doing the speed limit because—for once—the lake was delightful. That is, expect for all the assholes trying to pass me.
Workhorse Typefaces
Feb 22nd
Paula Scher, Stefan Sagmeister, and David Carson shattered the way I think about typography in their applications of organic, freehand character-writing. For so long, even non–conventional applications of digital typefaces seemed so dry, formal, forced. Letters drawn by hand were a fresh breath—no, a gasp! out of astonishment, but also for oxygen anew to fuel my little typographic grey cells.
Such typography, one comes quickly to realize, doesn’t suit all applications. In fact, it doesn’t suit most applications. The majority of typesetting isn’t done to draw attention to the text, but rather to make its characters melt their meaning with as little distraction as possible. It pays to know this—especially when that pay is coming from a client expecting your understanding of conventional typography to benefit her business.
That stated, listed below are the typefaces I most commonly employ. I use them for their stylistic range, completeness of character set, and most importantly, as a framework from which I can branch out and build more creativity—perhaps by employing or creating an entirely new typeface. No more delays. Here they are:
- ITC Garamond Std
- ITC New Baskerville Std
- Mrs. Eaves
- Futura Std
- Trade Gothic LT Std
- Helvetica Neue LT Std
I’d say I use these for 80% of the work I do. Other typefaces I might consider are listed below. Some are either related or variations of the faces above. Others are slowly building up to workhorse status, or are used in extremely specific instances.
- Adobe Garamond Pro
- Adobe Jenson Pro
- Avenir LT Std
- Univers LT Std
- Bodoni STD
- Frutiger
- Gill Sans
- Helvetica LT Std
- ITC Franklin Gothic Std
- Poetica
- Gotham HTF
What are your typographic workhorses?
Bacon in, Bacon Out
Jan 26th
I went to Comet last night with some friends to celebrate my birthday. Nothing fancy—a nice, low key evening with a few people who are close to me. I fathomed not the berth of bacon that would befall mine bowels.
As my gullet quivered with greasy goodness, my propensity for things quite the opposite began to jingle-jangle: the awkward salvation army collector at the exit of my mind’s Downer Sendik’s. It screamed, in so many rings: ABORT MISSION. REPEAT: ABORT MISSION. DO NOT EAT. DROP THE BACON. DROP IT NOW. ABORT OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.
And like most people, I ignored the bells, continuing instead to stuff copious amounts of hog belly into my own hog belly. Despite following the pound or more of bacon that I ate with an amazing vegan meatloaf, several beers and other drinks, I can still only say:
Bacon in, bacon out. Happy birthday, idiot.
O Really? Unionization, Hope, and the Future of America
Sep 1st
The cicadas were whirring madly in the late Summer sun as my friend Brian handed over two lime green tickets. My heart skipped a beat and I think I soiled myself. Okay. I know I soiled myself. But why?
I was skeptical of the Obama campaign’s ability to translate spirit and hope into action and change. So why was I still get excited to see him? What weak-willed wretch had I become to be persuaded by this potential sycophant? I pondered more as we waited in line at Milwaukee’s lake-front amphitheater.
I realized my excitement comes from the fact that I have little faith in fortune tellers. And I don’t think Obama hovers over a crystal ball. His faithfuls often divine what future our nation will face under their leader’s incumbency—but that does not mean that Obama’s campaign is without a solid vision or plan.
My initial reaction to his campaign was one of awe. The design is refined, classic, masculine but elegant. Something Cary Grant would approve of. It smells strongly of web 2.0—dare I call it Campaign 2.0? As Kennedy’s win hinged on television viewers in the 60s, so too does Obama’s hinge on technology users today. The comparisons to Kennedy have been going on since he announced his intent to run for office—so I’ll leave it at that for now.
Some time passed and it occurred to me that this could all be a ruse. And if not a ruse, then it could perhaps fall flat. My skepticism of the campaign polish—the logo, the website, the SMS donations, video feeds and so on—has gotten me into many arguments. As a designer, I appreciate what goes into creating an identity—more importantly, I know that an identity can be used for good or ill. That’s what scared me. That power and potential.
But as the crowd filled the seats and their rally cries emanated through the covered venue, I realized that what brings change is people. I looked around at all the people. Their eyes watering and hearts pounding, these people filled with hope, inspired and empowered by a man who understands how the world is changing and what it takes to mobilize a nation. It was hard to not have faith in the 20,000 human beings surrounding me.
Obama shows intent and social consciousness beyond that of Kennedy, Carter, Clinton—the few presidents who give me even a whisper of patriotism. We are extremely lucky to have a leader who knows that citizens run nations—and isn’t afraid to empower them.
That is why I pooped my pants. Change indeed.