Pre-Ramble:  The following post was recently written (by me, as a contributing editor) for the PUSH Institute.  Founded by visionary Cecily Sommers, PUSH is an organization that monitors under-the-radar technologies, markets, people, and ideas that are pushing the future in new directions, and divines their implications for business, government, and nonprofit sectors in the years ahead … all to foster and promote “strategic foresight.” (And who couldn’t use a little of that?)  Check out PUSH at the link above!

So, here is the post.  It’s about the role of typography in the modern marketplace … (this kind of thing is really fascinating to us “designer types” … )

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I was blown away the first time my accountant used the “f” word.  Since when does a bean counter talk bold face and italics?

B.C. (before computers) the word “font” was exclusive to graphic design.  Basically, unless you were a card carrying “creative,” you never had meaningful access to the secret society of typography. (Afterall, there are rules about this stuff … when typography falls into the wrong hands, all kinds of illegible things can happen.)

Anyone who has practiced the fine art of graphic design prior to the main-stream presence of word processing knows what I’m talking about. If I start waxing on about “keylining” or the living hell of “type spec-ing” you have my permission to slap my wrists with your pica ruler (google it). Let’s just say that, like nearly every aspect of our modern way of life, the design field, and specifically the manipulation of typography, has been literally transformed by technology.

In his classic tome, Designing with Type (1971), James Craig reveals the back story on all things typography — symbolic pictographs, ideographs, and early alphabets like Phoenician, Greek and Roman. Craig discusses the anatomy of a letter and common font terminology like: uppercase, lowercase, x-height, ascender, descender, counter, serif, san serif, boldface, italic, condensed, extended, leading, point size, punctuation marks, and the beloved “ampersand” … &.

When it comes to specific fonts, Craig has his favorites and goes into great depth on five classics that he believes provide a “standard by which to judge/evaluate all typefaces” — Garamond, Baskerville, Bodoni, Century Expanded, and Helvetica. I’m guessing that he would look askance at some of the fonts I’ve uncovered in my research here.

I’d invite Prof. Craig to contrast the Bodoni cap “S,” for example, with a cap “S” configuration designed by Estonian font designers, Vladimir and Maksim Loginov, made out of biscuit dough (biscuit alphabet shown above right). The brothers Loginov specialize in developing “unique, untraditional fonts.”  From the myraid samples offered on their website, I’d say they have exceeded this expectation.

The Take-Away: If you’re still thinking that nothing could be more pedestrian than font design, fasten your seatbelts and take a look at the iQ Font project by Pierre Smeets and Damian Aresta. I’d bet large sums of money that the genesis of this idea occurred in a dorm room somewhere.

iQ font – When driving becomes writing / Full making of from wireless on Vimeo.

Pre-Ramble:  Just when you think it’s safe to go to sleep, you hear a flapping sound coming from the bedroom window and realize that there’s a bat in the house. Such was the case last night, which is why I got no sleep, which is why I’m so crabby.

I hate bats. I’d rather have a mouse, or a spider, (maybe not a snake), or a flipping wooly mammoth, … TEN mice even, or TEN FLIPPING WOOLY MAMMOTHS, than have a bat in the house.

I know, … bats are good creatures … they provide a vital ecological role … blah, blah.  Sure, bats are the only mammals capable of flight.  Great, whatever.  If you can even call that “flight” … all that creepy fluttering and darting.  Apparently, over 70% of bats are insectivores, with the rest frugivores (eat fruit) and carnivores (eat people).  And, bats can range in weight from an itty-bitty 2 grams to a chunky 3 pounds. Just what we need is a 3 pound bat hanging around the fruit bowl.

911 - People have all sorts of ideas about how to apprehend a bat that gets into the house including scooping it out of the air with a bedsheet, taking a swing at it with a tennis racket, or flicking lights on and off (to what – “strobe” it into submission?). I prefer to duck under the covers and scream at nearby family members. (Which is better than what I did when I was living in one of my first apartments and I thought there was a mouse in the kitchen trash can, which was to call the police.) (They were super nice about it and carried it out into the backyard.)

The Take-Away: When all else fails, call Critter Control … 651-731-3865. For $125 they will come out to the house and comb the joint with nothing but their wits and a piece of sticky cardboard until they find the damn thing.

Post-Note: For all you bat lovers (you have serious problems), the “Bats” wall poster shown above can be yours for just $21.99, or $129.99 framed. Heck, for $129.99, you can come over here and play tennis with my bat, … or roll around in a sheet with my ten wooly mammoths.

Pre-Ramble: So, … between a random Comcast black-out and a 12-hour road trip from Detroit to Minneapolis, I’ve been incommunicado for a few days now.  Lucky for me, the down time was filled with “forced thinking opportunities” and yielded a swell angle on a quasi-travel-blog. Lucky for you, I will share that with you now.

You are here. Locating yourself relative to your destination is key – hence the need for navigational aids.  We were prepared with not one, but FOUR modes of navigation – 1. Garmin GPS suctioned onto the windshield at eye-level; 2. a print-out of turn-by-turn Mapquest directions from point A to point B; 3. a series of AAA maps (those folded up, multi-colored paper things) with the entire route marked in green highlighter; 4. a portable handheld device (iPhone) that could pin-point our exact location in the event that we were inadvertently drawn into uncharted territory or thrown from the vehicle.

Another important consideration is that both driver and passenger must be in synch with food, drink and potty stop requirements. This is essential to efficient scheduling of on and off road events. The last thing you want is for one or the other of the travelers to skip a potty stop because they “don’t have to go” only to have to drop them off on the side of the interstate with a cocktail napkin deep into toll-booth territory.

Which brings us to a third point – bring a zip-lock baggy full of change (NO PENNIES).  Stow it in the sidedoor compartment and keep your eyes peeled for the toll road signs. The trick here is, you’ve got to be ready for anything. Required toll amounts can vary from 3o-cents to a buck-eighty …  As the front seat passenger/navigator, it is your duty to count out the proper change and hand it to the driver as the vehicle enters the cash only booth lane. The hand-off is critical. You don’t want any loose dimes slipping off between the seats, or worse, falling out of the car window onto the road before reaching the attendant’s out-stretched hand. There are serious points deducted for that. 

Other tips:

• You’re going to keep running into the same vehicles (not literally) on the road … you’ll catch up and pass … they’ll catch up and pass … etc. So, you want to make sure you’re focused and non-combative. Nobody needs road rage.
• If you need to find a Target along the way, there’s an app for that.
• The funnest thing ever is to randomly change your route and listen to Garmie (pet name for GPS) give you the irritated “Recalculating” missive. (Also, have you ever noticed that when you’re in the close up range on the GPS, your vehicle stays “on track,” i.e., on the straight pink road up the center of the screen THE ENTIRE TIME?)

Ok, so, here’s a really stupid/cool travel/adventure that I found online the other day… it’s called, A Virtual Road Trip with Marc Horowitz and Peter Blades. 

Apparently, Pete and Marc wanted to take a road trip together this summer, but Pete lives in Richmond, VA and Mark lives in LA. They tried and tried to make their dreams of the classic American cross-country journey come true, but because of finances, schedule conflicts, and time constraints, they just couldn’t make it work. You know how it is. But then they had an idea – an idea that my friend Ann would call a classic “hair-brained scheme” … They decided to take a virtual road trip … one that exploited the wonderful technologies of Google Maps and ustream!

On August 10, 2009, at 3pm PST, they left Marc’s house in LA and began driving together to Pete’s place in Richmond. They were essentially “virtual driving” across the country by continuously pressing the Google Maps arrow keys eastward, and broadcasting the entire experience live on http://www.googlemapsroadtrip.com .

Folks who don’t have anything more pressing to do are able to not only see and hear Pete and Marc as they travel, but also join them in a real-time chat room.  Wow! Just think of it as an invitation to hop into the backseat and ride along with them for part of the adventure. This gig was real-time, so when Pete and Marc stopped to eat, they actually ate, when they stop to sleep, they actually go to bed. Not only that, but if you wanted them to visit you, they actually called you as they entered your area, and called you up for a virtual tour around your hood.

This is everything that we’d do on a real road trip, except we don’t have to leave the house, pay for gas, or worry about getting speeding tickets.”

Kinda wacky, huh? 

Ok, great … but, based on our recent twelve hour drive-o-rama however, if they’re going to simulate the true, extended butts-in-seats-experience, they need to pledge that they will sit in the same chair for hours on end with yesterday’s newspaper and bags of stale French fries crammed around their ankles, drinking nothing but lukewarm bottled water and day-old coffee, and rebooting their computer every ten minutes while throwing $.80 in exact change into the wastebasket. Now you’re talking road trip!

The Take-Away: Road trips are great adventures and the next chance you get, you should head for the open road! 

Post-Note: If you come across a giant fiberglass mouse outside a cheese shop in Wisconsin – don’t even think about not stopping.

Pre-Ramble: Every year it’s the same thing.  The weather guy goes on and on about how the Leonid meteors are in our area … and how they are going to be spectacular … and how we should go to a hill top away from city lights between the hours of 1 and 4 a.m. to see their magnificence.  They wax on about how the big show is only going to be visible for a limited time (like some kind of jewel-tone sweater set sale on the QVC), … and I get all fired up thinking that THIS will be the time that I finally see a shooting star.

Sure, I’ve seen shooting stars before. Once as a child when I was at a dude ranch in Arizona, and another time when I was a guest at an awesome retreat site in Carmel, California. But, in all the years I’ve been at home during prime meteor-shower time, I’ve never seen a single blip in the stupid sky. And it’s not like I’m standing under a marquee in Uptown … I’m camped out in my suburban driveway, the nearest street light is literally four miles away. It’s got to be some kind of scam.

Speaking of seeing stars, (not the TKO kind … ), we’re heading over to Hazeltine National Golf Club tomorrow to see if we can get a glimpse of the indomitable Tiger Woods working his magic on the links. After day one, Tiger is at the top of the leader board with a 5-under par 67. For those of you non-golfers, that’s a super good score. (I’m not bragging here, but I can easily shoot that in just 9 holes.)

At least on television, Tiger Woods has a physical presence and mental focus that seem almost otherworldly. A crushingly large gallery follows him from hole to hole along with an impressive security force (you can’t have people running over and chatting him up between holes in a competitive atmosphere so strict even the click of a camera can be a distraction). 

So, this year I dragged my daughters out on the meteor-watch with me.  If I’m going to see a shooting star, I want witnesses. It’s 1:27 a.m. and the three of us are sitting there in the dark, craning our necks skyward, waiting for a speck of space dust to streak past our field of vision.

Waiting …

Waiting … (necks are hurting … )

Waiting … (kids are getting restless … )

Waiting … (I am getting restless … )

And then, after what seems like an endless string of “oh-let’s-wait-just-one-more-minute” s, … as clear as day, … in the blink of an instant, … a small fiery ball shoots across the patch of sky between the trees.

The Take-Away: !!! 

Post Note: I’ll let you know if I witness any stellar shots at the PGA tomorrow –

Pre-Ramble: Every couple of days or so, I come across a piece of writing that is so poetic, insightful and clever that I wish I had written it. 

It’s usually something by James Wolcott in Vanity Fair, or Martha Beck in O Magazine, or anything in The New York Times Sunday Magazine.

Interestingly, at least to a wordsmithing wannabe like me, some of the funniest, or I should say “punniest” turns of phrase show up in the Wall Street Journal. Front page headlines, even those heralding weightly matters, are regularly laced with double entendre.  And now that the Journal has a sports page, they have virtually run amuck.

Take an article in Monday’s sports section about the controversy surrounding the decision made by the Federation Internationale de Natation (FINA), the governing body of competitive swimming, to ban “performance enhancing suits” (PES) or “supersuits” the fabric and fit of which “can improve speed, buoyancy and endurance.”

Now, I’m not a big swimmer. In fact, I don’t really care for swimming. … Ok, I loathe swimming … I don’t even like to get wet. That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t like swimming more if I could wear one of these sleek, spandex, full-length suits, especially if they come with a built-in control panel in the ab flab zone and can net me a couple of gold medals.

Anyway, this supersuit article (by Allen Barra) was just dripping with water puns, four of which I must share with you now:

From now on, FINA has dictated, swimmers will sink or swim in suits made of traditional textiles.”

The prohibition doesn’t take effect until January 1, 2010, but it’s already created ripples in the swim world.”

Sports purists counter that such arguments don’t hold water.”

[Even] for those of us with kids who don’t dream of Olympic medals, the FINA decision will have a trickle-down effect.”

The Take-Away:  Allen, I am not worthy. Even if I were to plumb the depths of my vocabulary, I wouldn’t be able to match the superior caliber of style, finesse and punsterismness that you demonstrate in your work.  

Post-Note:  It might be a stretch … and I might be in over my head here, but I’m not going to let the fact that I’m still wet behind the ears when it comes to writing dampen my enthusiasm.  Just because I’m an amateur doesn’t mean I can’t float the occasional bad pun or flip remark. (My only regret here is that I wasn’t able to work in the word “hosed.”)

Pre-Ramble:  I have never featured a video in one of my blogs — it seems like cheating somehow. It seems like a short-cut on content or substance in some way… like planting your kids in front of the Disney Channel to keep them occupied while you focus your attention elsewhere.

Now, I’m not dissing the Disney Channel, or parents/caregivers who select that form of entertainment for their little charges, I’m just considering whether or not readers feel jipped when they click into their favorite blog (aw shucks) only to be unceremoniously hi-linked to some other universe.  I guess the only way that would be a good thing, is if the video or link is outstandingly amazing …

… LIKE THIS!:

This is just the greatest testament to exuberance I’ve ever seen — sweet, wacky, fun, cut-loose, authentic exuberance!  As of this writing it has over 15 million hits (that’s alot). One of the random comments on the youtube site says it best:

That was an awesome wedding entrance. I have watched this ten times and it still makes me laugh, smile, cry and hope.

The Take-Away:  I’m going to make room in my life for some of that!

Pre-Ramble:  I’m sure there has been way more written about this incident than is necessary or desirable, but when has that ever stopped me?  By now, we’ve all seen the photo-op of what has been flippantly referred to as “The White House Beer Garden” (WSJ); “Foaming Diplomacy” (St. Paul Pioneer Press); ”Red, Lite and Blue Summit” (MSNBC); and my personal favorite, “The Keggar” (David Letterman).

I’m talking about the carefully choreographed shot of President Obama, professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and police Sgt. James Crowley ”hoisting a conciliatory beer around a picnic table next to the White House ’s new swing set,” following an unfortunate altercation on Prof. Gates doorstep earlier in the week. Vice President Biden was also included at the last minute, even though he had committed no gaffe related to the incident (give him time).

In case you’ve been sequestered in some kind of isolation tank for the past two weeks, Sgt. Crowley responded to a call on a possible break-in at a Cambridge home and ended up arresting Prof. Gates for disorderly conduct, even after becoming aware that Gates was, in fact, the home’s owner. A week later, President Obama exacerbated matters when commenting off-handedly (at a news conference) that the Cambridge police had “acted stupidly” in arresting Gates — a word choice that he later qualified as regrettable.

So, Harvard scholar Gates, … weary having just returned from a trip to China, becomes agitated when he can’t open his own front door.  And Sgt. Crowley, … police officer doing his job, follows up on a call from a neighbor who had spotted a disgruntled man rattling around on Gate’s porch in the middle of the night.

Vigilant officer meets thwarted homeowner — soon, the situation has escalated into an event. Gates is throwing around emphatic exclamatories, and Crowley, tweaked by the tirade, carries out his duty to the very letter of the law. We weren’t there, we don’t know. And, thankfully, that isn’t even the point.

As a kid growing up in a Detroit suburb during the 60’s, I can remember hearing the distant sounds of riots in the middle of the night. And, remember Rodney King? … Fast forward a couple decades — we all know that this whole thing could have gone so much worse.

If we’re smart, we also recognize that the behavior of either Gates or Crowley could have been any one of us, responding inappropriately to a situation that gets the better of us. While President Obama probably should have declined to respond publically to the incident (doesn’t he have other important stuff going on?), the planets couldn’t have been lined up any better for the swift diffusion of this potentially explosive ”teachable moment.”  Stating the obvious, as a black man with a bi-racial heritage, President Obama is in the unique position to bring a deeper and more immediate understanding to the elusive dynamics of race relations in America. 

The Take-Away:  While hot spots of racial tension and its sad effects still smolder under the surface, the acceptance and respect demonstrated in the disarming tone of the Beer Summit models a new way to address our differences and handle the inevitable bumps that pop up. Whether we’re sitting on the White House lawn or in our own backyards, it shows that we can simmer down, sit around a table, look each other in the eye, and talk about things. We can find a common ground and choose to move forward to higher ground together.

Gates and Crowley had like sentiments following the reconsiliatory gathering:

[The day became an opportunity to] move not just the City of Cambridge or two individuals past this event, but the whole country beyond this and toward some meaningful discussion in the future … we didn’t spend too much time dwelling on the past … we spent a lot of time discussing the future.”  — Sgt. Crowley

It is incumbent upon Mr. Crowley and me to utilize the great opportunity that fate has given us to foster greater sympathy among the American public for the daily perils of policing on the one hand, and for the genuine fears of racial profiling on the other hand.” — Prof. Gates

Post-Note:  As a strong proponent of civic responsibility and long time fan of Gladys Kravitz (the Steven’s nosy neighbor on the 1970’s television series, Bewitched), I applaud Lucia Whalen, the individual who made the 911 call to Cambridge police, and welcome her to watch my back anytime.