Escape from Comic Sans: would you, if you could?

{ Design Work Life via FFFFOUND! }*

IF ONLY.

Online publishing prefers sans serifs fonts for legibility and general easiness on the eyes. So if one, for some reason, determined (or was forced) to operate solely in the digital realm, the risk of encountering Comic Sans would always exist. That most aesthetically base typeface would always hover in the infinitely nearby ether, waiting to leap out and insult one’s intelligence and sense of sincerity.

If, however, one decided (or, in fairness, was forced) to remain solely in the world of tangible readables, maintaining daily contact with printed matter**, excluding all online readables, one MIGHT, in theory, achieve said escape.

Personally, I’d rather risk potential exposure to abominable web-friendly fonts than miss out on all the glory of the interwebs. Who in their right mind would intentionally shelter from that font of caustic, truthful wit The Oatmeal; NASA’s always-humbling Astronomy Picture of the Day; or, at the more frivolous end of the online gamut, Women Laughing Alone With Salad?

The enjoyment of these wonders might render impossible a guaranteed escape from Comic Sans, but it’s worth it.

* Also, how BRILLIANT is this faux-retro image‽

** (Proper printed matter like books and newspapers and magazines, not printouts of documents typed in Comic Sans.)

The book[ing] desk

{ Information desk, via FFFFOUND!}

I’m not sure I’d trust information sourced from behind a desk made of books that clearly can’t be opened for information-sourcing purposes, but I would certainly trust the person who designed said desk.

It’s rather reminiscent of that favourite chromatically arranged bookshelf of mine:

{ from Periodic tables of everything, which is definitely a related post }

A bouquet of alphabetically sharpened pencils

Alphabet sharpened pencils

{ by Dalton Ghetti, on Designers Go To Heaven, via FFFFOUND! }

“Don’t you just love New York in the Fall? Makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of alphabetically sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address…”  — (a slightly altered) Tom Hanks as Joe Fox in You’ve Got Mail (which, I confess, I have seen at least 200 times).

I am going to New York in the Fall. Am very excited. Excited enough to buy a bouquet of pencils in celebration. If only I could get a set of 26 like this, it would certainly heighten the vacationary* stationery loveliness.

* No, not a real word.

Even Nonomnivores Make Misteaks

We learn  from our mistakes. We learn from others’ mistakes. “The perosn (sic) who doesn’t make mistakes is unlikely to make anything”. If we didn’t make mistakes, I’d be out of a (new) job. AND I’d have nothing to quibble about. And nothing to scold myself over. For to err is human, and we are Errthlings after all.


{ by Monsieur Cabinet on Swiss Miss, via FFFFOUND! }

…but could you make mine an eggplant steak?
Or tuna if you must.
I don’t eat mammals.

NYYYE: Bewitched at the witching hour by musical magic and Mother Nature

As Oh-Nine switched into Twenty-Ten*… One pedantic blogger, Three friends of mine, and around Sixteen Thousand strangers were wildly dancing to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, in the rural coastal farmland wonderland that is Falls Festival, Marion Bay, Tasmania.


{ via The Mercury }


To the North, a full moon — a full BLUE moon — peered through the clouds:


{ via me, @miss_om }


To the South, behind the stage, instead of mankind’s incredible but economically and environmentally expensive fireworks, our pyrotechnics were provided by a truly electric lightning storm, erratically illuminating the wild Tasmanian night from end-to-end, for hours on end.


{ the view in Hobart, via The Mercury }


And then, as if sensing the combined heat of 16000 revellers, great big raindrops began to fall from the sky, lit like glitter by the neon green strobe lights. For the last hour of Oh-Nine, the crowd… went wild. The atmosphere was nothing short of primal.


A witching hour decorated by magic music and some of Mother Nature’s finest miracles? A bewitching start to the new year.


And speaking of witches**, the following is an item of wiccan imagery:


{ Witch Tower, via FFFFOUND! }

And THIS…

…is the official Yeah Yeah Yeahs t-shirt.


Wicked, yeah?


* Entering a new decade has been a popular topic of conversation of late. Personally, I’m more interested in the changed abbreviation. It seems like just yesteryear that we were all in a bother about how to abbreviate 2000 (after the convenience of ‘Ninety-Nine’ and all its predecessors). Turns out we were okay with ‘Two Thousand’, and the the rest of the noughties took care of themselves. Twenty-Ten rolls off the tongue beautifully, don’t you think? Though I hate to think where we’ll be this time next year. ‘Twenty-Eleven’ is far too polysyllabic: too cumbersome. But then simply saying ‘Eleven’ just doesn’t say enough: it lacks clarity. Oh well. At least we’ve got 363 days to decide on a suitably agreeable abbreviation.

** No, nothing about Karen O! Though the fact that she wrote the soundtrack to Where The Wild Things Are (and is pretty darn wicked) makes the wildness particularly relevant.

DEFINITELY RELATED POSTS: Camping on Tenterhooks (aka. Another apt OED Word of The Day)

Loves: Books & Spiral staircases (all). Does Not Love: Eames (some).

I love books.

Love love love. Adore. Cherish. Worship. Covet & Lust after.

I also have a VERY strong aesthetic attraction to spiral staircases. [Aside: I once scared off a fellow theatre patron by waxing lyrical about the set design for Bell Shakespeare's Hamlet, and my "thing" for spiral staircases].

So to me, this image…


{ Casa Aquino by Augusto Fernandez Mas, on Freshome, via FFFFOUND! }

…is almost perfect.

Almost.

Why?

I just can’t abide the Eames Lounge Chair (670) and Ottoman(671). Look at it. ‘Tis a boring blot on an otherwise heavenly room.

This aversion, I think, is borne of 5 years working for an architecture & interior design magazine — where I chance upon an image of ‘The Eames’ at least three times a day, usually as prop-furniture in project promo photo shoots — in addition to a lifelong general disaffection for Stuff What Everyone’s Already Got.

Some people (okay, LOTS of people) adore 670 & 671. And I’mma let them finish… but I’m sorry, I think it ruins everything. See, That Chair can even turn this really sweet and interesting poster (full of good intent and fine advice):


{ Graphic-ExchanGE via FFFFOUND! }

…into “Oh. Another pretentious design poster”:


{ image credit: ditto }

Even the ineffable cuteness of Polaroid can’t save this from the Eames Lounge Instant Cliché Effect (patent pending).

It’s just so thoroughly and undeniably… beige (in the figurative sense… unless you buy this one, in which case it is also literally beige, and therefore the definitive definition OF beige).

But to prove that I’ve no deep-seated [oh. Oh that was BAD. Sorry] prejudice against Eames’ designs in general, I’d like to introduce a beautiful new acquaintance I made just this past weekend:


{ via eamesoffice.com. Take special note of the jaunty umbrella and hat. Very handsome; pure class. More chair-lust here. }

Everyone, I’d like you to meet the Eames Time-Life Executive Chair. Designed in 1960 for the Time-Life building in New York. The pair I had the pleasure of meeting — in a severely cool retro-antiques furniture store the quiet country streets of Milton, South Coast NSW — were upholstered in aqua-blue wool tweed, with the smoothest, buttery, faun-coloured suede back and armrests… I fawned over them. I thought they were truly lovely.

This fleeting encounter was an informative one. All this time I thought I was anti-Eames, yet all it took was 5 minutes with two darling retro chairs to prove that this dislike only applies to SOME Eames (Eameses? Eames’es?).

This is a happy discovery, for absolutist prejudice is never a pleasant thing.


Disclaimer: This does not change my feelings re: 670 & 671.

Don’t forget your [insert modern essential here]

.

This…

… is a brilliant idea. Before Leaving Check List vinyl wall decals by Hu2 Design.

If my mother has taught me anything (okay, she’s taught me a superfluity of things both useful and useless, but that’s beside the point) it’s that one ought never leave home without reciting the timeless mantra “Keys Wallet Phone. Keys Wallet Phone. Keys Wallet Phone.” … and actually checking to make sure you have all those items on your person, of course*.

Why, to avoid THIS awful feeling:

{ Public Poster Project by Egor Bashakov on Behance Network, via FFFFOUND! }

I abhor, loathe, and dread the niggling feeling that you’ve left something behind somewhere.  Even when it’s just a completely unjustified twinge at the back of your mind all day. But especially when it’s true!


*Things gets more complicated with music players and reading glasses of course. Though I have yet to encounter said technicality, because music lives in the eyePhone, thus killing two birds with one apple seed [it's worth your time clicking that last link, for technological comparison with this, for example]. And these young eyes are working perfectly well, thank heavens**.

**Although if they weren’t, I could always test them out on this awesome type-lovers’ Snellen Eye Chart).

*

Elvis + Helvetica? Hellsvetica yes!

Firstly: Elvis + Helvetica = brilliant.


{by Hulk4598 on flickr, via FFFFOUND!}

This girl approves.

Now, for a bit of waffle. (Err… waffle).

Note Exhibit A, above. Young Elvis* all dolled up for the film Roustabout, in too-neat leathers with too-tidy hair . Movie tagline: “Elvis Presley as a Roving, Restless, Reckless, ROUSTABOUT”. [Insert sceptical looks here].

But also note Exhibit B:


{also by Hulk4598 on flickr, via FFFFOUND!}

Young Elvis in a rather naff suit, with an acoustic guitar that he never really played much, and a messed-up coiff that looks like he’s just come off stage after this:

(Skip to 1:00 and press play. Watch to the end. DO IT. Honestly. Just trust me on this, okay? You won’t regret it.)

Now isn’t it ironic that despite the extra “L” in Exhibit A [“Hell for leather[s]“, anyone?] Elvis was actually at the peak of his corrupting deviance not as a “Roving, Restless, Reckless, ROUSTABOUT”, but as a cheeky, messy-haired rockabilly boy?

Clearly, the 1950s were hella good for the Rebellious Youth, in music and typography.


*[as opposed to Old Elvis: let's just not go there, okay?]

PS. Much as I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not such a fan of Helvekitty.

PPS. Whatever happened to Elvis movies on Sunday afternoon TV? Oh well, at least we’ve still got: