The Internet and graduate school killed my previously life-long love affair with printed books. I now read blogs and articles upon articles, but find it harder to pick up an actual, physical book.
My husband suggests that I get a Kindle or some other book-gadget…but I’m old school. I like cracking spines, the fresh smell of a used book that’s lived too long in dank places, the scratchy-smooth feel of pressed paper beneath my fingertips, the satisfying thump the pages make when you close a heavy tome.
I’ve decided to reclaim that feeling. One of my favorite print mags, Entertainment Weekly, highly recommends Americanah, by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I did a quick Google search and found that she’s rather prolific. This summer, hopefully aided by my local library, I’ll be reading as many of her books as I can get my hands on.
I’ll post brief updates on my progress (or lack thereof). I plan to venture out today into the overcast outdoors and brighten it up with Half of a Yellow Sun.
Some equally bookish friends recommended that I (immediately!) look up Adichie’s TED talk, “The Danger of a Single Story.” Here it is, by the way:
If you have any book recommendations for me, poetry, fiction or non-fiction, I’m all ears!
Happy July 4th! The rain fell on many a parade in Atlanta today, so I settled in to watch something random on Netflix. I stumbled upon the documentary Helvetica, a modest history of the Swiss typeface Helvetica, by documentary director Gary Hustwit.
It takes a special type of person to watch a 90 minute-long film about a font: a nerd. I am that special person. Hustwit took us to the quaint Haas font foundry in Basel, Switzerland, where Max Miedinger and Eduard Hoffmann collaborated to create Neue Haas Grotesk (the font’s original name). Helvetica inspires calm with its clean lines and modernist occupation of white space. No fancy dancy serifs or angsty faces.
The film made typography appear to be a fascinating field that attempts to solve questions in design that non-designers don’t think to ask. What struck me most about the film was how it succeeded in impressing me with the font’s ubiquitous presence.
It reminds me of when I first learned how great a role advertising plays on the American psyche. A hamburger sweats juicily on your TV, and lo and behold! You’re hungry. But it’s subtle. You attribute your hunger to your now-growling stomach, not the Applebees commercial you just saw.
Per Hustwit’s film, typeface selection has this same import. The no-nonsense font communicates simply and authoritatively, so it’s used often for business logos and public signs. In fact, the type designers interviewed described font choice as a type of advertising. This blew my mind. But considering that fonts are supposed to be invisible (unless they’re not), it began to make sense that a successful font choice influences you without your knowledge. It speaks to a different part of your cognition, a part that is not reading words, but interpreting balance and creating meaning.
So the all-capped Helvetica on the United States Postal Service logo and the Target logo have been working typeface juju on me this entire time? It must be. I had no idea how many well-known businesses (more than 40) used Helvetica for branding. Here’s a long list, which includes American Airlines, Staples, Jeep, Néstlé, Post-It, Scotch, and Microsoft.
Like most enjoyable nerd activities, watching Helvetica opened me up to another way of understanding how societies communicate through layers of language. Lastly, a few of the designers dropped some nuggets I thought I’d share.
“Creating order is typography.” Wim Crouwel
“Type has spirit and can convey mood.” Paula Scher
“Don’t confuse legibility with communication.” David Carson
Have you seen Helvetica? If so, what did you think about the film?
I was a short kid, with a looming forehead, two robust front teeth and a gap you could kick a goal through. My trifecta of kid imperfections required an ability to verbally shimmy out of taunting situations before I literally needed to shimmy out of the grasp of bullies.
But I had no quick wit. As it happened, my tongue-tied silence often served as feast enough for their laughter. I got teased to hell and back, but somehow managed to escape childhood without one physical fight. Not one punch thrown or open-handed slap landed, no kidney body blows or throat jabs, no Vaseline necessary and I never lost any earrings. Nobody ever had to “hold me back, girl.” I did that fine on my own.
Part of my revulsion for fighting was just common sense odds gaming; I have been 4’10” since age 12. That’s a long time to be shorter than the majority of middle school and high school kids. I never popped off at the mouth because I didn’t have the inches to back it. Granted, there are scrappy short girls and women who will whip a tail easy; but the fight was never in this dog to begin with, so my size became obstacle rather than pride point.
Fighting Moles (Photo credit: Tom Verre)
Curiously, my mother, a legendary stomper from Detroit, never taught me to fight. She insisted that I defend myself, if it came to that–but she taught me words before fists. Words on paper have been my weapons since.
Never scrapping, save the odd pushing match with my younger brother, is an uncomfortable streak to have as a grown woman. Black eyes are best relegated to peas, no longer the visceral trophies of heroism they would’ve been in grade school. Showing up to work with a shiner conjures fables of falling down stairs and whispered Chris Brown jokes. Not a good look. Plus, I’m unlikely to engage in a fracas in my most frequented arenas: the farmer’s market, Target, church, or poetry venues. I can’t imagine throwing down over the last zucchini. I. Just. Can’t.
This, chiefly, is why I can’t watch Real Housewives of anything. There are no glory days for me to hearken back to, no gum-popping, sandal-wielding, spit-tossing, drink-splashing, hair-ripping events to call upon when some brute crosses me in public. I do what I have always done; save the fight for a thick black pen and some notebook papers. I have eviscerated, tongue lashed, lambasted, demoralized, upbraided and straight excoriated violators in verse and in prose.
My husband worries that if the time comes, I won’t have his physical back. My dad taught me a clean throat chop, groin smash and instep stomp if I need it. But I’m hoping to stay fracas-free forever, living to tell about the glory of having no guts.
I have a complicated history with hip-hop. When it began to really swell in popularity in the ’90s, I wasn’t allowed to listen to it. Much of what the hip-hop community deems its classics passed me by (like the Pharcyde) while I was busy listening to more parent-approved music. Once I grew older, I began to work my way backwards and form my own opinion of the art form and its artists. I say all this to underline the fact that I am a relatively new fan of hip-hop, nothing close to a hip-hop head.
Yesterday, in the middle of Jigga-filled YouTube playlist, I realized that I do indeed, like true hip-hop heads, have a favorite MC and producer. That would be Jay-Z and Pharrell (with The Neptunes), respectively. I paired the two of them together because, looking through their combined discography, I love their collaborations. As Jay-Z said in “Change Clothes”, “He and the boy Pharrell make beautiful music.” Pharrell’s production involves a lot of spare dream beats and funky guitar riffs that complement Jay’s confident delivery. But the magic really happens when Pharrell lends his breezy alto vocals to a project, often imbuing the tracks with his own Curtis Mayfield-inspired flavor. I sound like a fan girl, right? (Giggle).
If you don’t believe me, here are a few of my favorite songs featuring the dynamic duo of Pharrell and Jay-Z.
“Change Clothes” (from The Black Album)
“Excuse Me Miss” (from The Blueprint: The Gift and the Curse)
Only for the grown and sexy.
“I Just Wanna Love U (Give It to Me) (from The Dynasty: Roc La Familia)
“I Know” (from American Gangster
And my personal favorite, whenever I need to feel a little more brassy about myself…”So Ambitious” (from The Blueprint 3) (gotta love those horns!)
It’s Friday, it’s Friday, it’s the end of the week, and the last day! (Word to Ryan Cameron).
I’m super happy today for a number of reasons:
I got enough sleep last night! I went to bed at 9:45 pm like a good girl.
I’ve decided to take a class in creative nonfiction next month! I’m so excited.
I’m finally going to visit the poetry night at Apache Cafe! I’ve lived in Atlanta six years without going, and I decided to end my streak this weekend.
I’m having a pool party with friends tomorrow.
Who isn’t happy on payday?!
So what’s rocking your Friday socks off? Happy Friday!
dara t. mathis 