Last weekend I learned the mechanics of creating a typeface. In case you didn’t know – making a font is mind-bendingly complicated. It’s like photo editing gone mad.
This was my result after three days of bad posture and squinting at my 15-inch laptop screen. I was trying to find a word that featured the best fruits of my labor. Apparently a wizened wizard from Middle Earth was the only thing that would suffice.
Oh, and then there’s pi:
I named my font “pomme”. It started out as “pomplemousse” but I got bloody fucking tired of typing out “pomplemousse” every thirty minutes and abandoned the idea of naming my font after French citrus. Great workshop though; three days, 10 hours each day. The instructors were funny. They wore t-shirts with typography jokes on them. We went to happy hour. We had painfully long critiques. People opined. And now I can’t stop working in Font Lab. My Doctor Who scarf, as a result, is being largely ignored.
I’m currently watching a documentary called “Room 237”. Well, ok not really. It’s on in the background while I’m in the midst of this feeble attempt to crank out a blog entry. Facebooking is killing my blog. The irony? I pay for the blog.
I am Jack’s epic facepalm.
I actually find myself scrolling through old Facebook posts looking for ideas to blog about.
Ok, so I’m ‘sort-of’ watching this Shining documentary. On that note, careening head-first down a large flight of stairs looks painful. I wonder if that was really Jack Nicholson or a stunt-double. My vote is for stunt-double. Also, whatever happened to the Big Wheel? I had one as a kid; I remember that the front wheel, over time, developed a flat edge on a ten-inch section of the arc of the wheel as a result from braking at what would appear to be the same spot repeatedly. The result was an audible “thunk-a thunk-a thunk-a” during normal operation. I suppose that’s motivation to learn to ride a bike.
Something occurred to me yesterday while I was sitting at my desk snacking on gluten-free granola from Pike Place Market and becoming increasingly focused on extracting the raisins from aforementioned bag: just why do raisins plucked from a cacophony of other ingredients taste so much better than raisins à la carte? Rochelle claims that Jesus would know. I can’t say I agree with that assessment…I mean, how popular could gluten-free granola be in Galilee or Judea in 36 AD? Perhaps if I’m ever witnessed to I will ask them.
– “Excuse me, but have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”
– “Uh, no…but I have a question. Does Jesus know why raisins extracted from a bag of gluten-free granola are so much tastier than raisins on their own?”
– “So you haven’t opened your heart up to Jesus?”
– “Not unless he can answer intelligently about my raisin question.”