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a font of joy

When I was in junior high, a miraculous invention changed my life.  No, I’m not talking about instant messaging, though that came out around that time and also changed my life, in large part by making me a super fast typist, though I’d rather forget that my junior high band nerd self chose “ilovemysax” as my first unfortunate screen name.  No, I’m talking about SPARKLY GEL PENS!  I’m pretty sure Japan, land of all things adorable, which also gave us the required Tamagotchis (which were later banned from school), invented sparkly gel pens, and they found their way into my little junior high world sometime after that.  Pretty soon they were practically required for junior high coolness, and we took our notes in class using neon colors, sometimes alternating every bullet point with a different color.  Never mind that the fluorescent oranges and pinks were rather hard to read, we were SO COOL with our sparkly pens.  (If you doubt that a pen is enough to be cool in junior high, you haven’t been in junior high.)  I vividly remember sitting around a four-seater table with my 3 best friends in social studies class, our shared collection of gel pens stacked in a pile in the middle of the table for our shared use and note-beautification.

But it wasn’t just class notes we beautified with our snazzy gel-inked, translucent roller-ball pens.  There’s another crucial aspect of junior high life for which gel pens were crucial.  And that is the art of the note to your friends.  I became sort of a master at the highly embellished note, crafted somewhat surreptitiously during class, detailing OH SO MUCH serious junior high drama, referring to crushes with super secret code names, with my friends’ names at the top in highly embellished fonts I free-handed using print-outs I made of entire alphabets with Microsoft Word fonts from my home computer.  I even invented some of my own fonts.  And of course, I folded all the notes into intricate origami shapes for delivery, either slipped into lockers or passed hand to hand in the hallways.  Pretty soon every friend who was on a sports team or competitive squad of some sort got a good-luck note, complete with doodles and illustrations, their names usually in my SUPER COOL self-designed zebra-printed all-caps font, on competition days.  My notes actually became coveted items, and people would get their feelings hurt if game day came and I didn’t give them a good luck note.

Though we eventually moved on to high school, and gel pens and note-writing sort of dropped by the wayside, perhaps because we had actual schoolwork to be focusing on with our AP courseloads. Still those early note writing days led to a love of self-taught semi-calligraphy, and if you’re ever lucky enough to receive a birthday card from me, odds are your name will be written on the front with some sort of fancy font, most likely using a silver or gold gel pen, which are still popular pen choices, even if their novelty no longer makes them a school-supply must have.  I think they’re now most popular with scrapbookers, which, you should see the stuff I did for my wedding album.

You may be wondering what is up with this ode to fonts and gel pens, or perhaps what the deal is with the fancy drop caps I’m using in every paragraph of this post.  And here is where I have to confess that the drop caps are the entire point.  I stumbled across typographer Jessica Hiche’s Daily Drop Cap blog and was instantly transported back to my junior high font-inventing, note-embellishing days.  If only someone had told my junior high self that growing up to be a font-designer was a possibility, my life may have taken a different course! Who knew that all that in-class time wasting could turn out to be a marketable skill?

C heck out Hiche’s Daily Drop Caps for yourself, if you’re a font-nerd like me. I’m just going to be drooling over her typography work, and maybe breaking out those gel pens for some fun times. Anyone need a note?

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is technology killing love and trust?

Image via Air America via degreedate.com.

David Brooks is sort of the Andy Rooney of the New York Times, always baffled by modern ways of life and love, and wishing we could return to the good old days, maybe even in Lake Woebegone, where the men don’t have iPhones, the women don’t have Facebook, and all of the relationships are hookup-free until marriage.  Brooks’ latest column is about how cell phones and texting have killed romance.

Brooks’ column is littered with proof of how he just. doesn’t. get. it. (He notes that the daters he quotes make up nicknames for their partners, not catching that “Stage Five Clinger” is a “Wedding Crashers” reference.  He also seems to think Bruce Springsteen is an appropriate cultural reference.) I sort of imagine that Brooks does his phoning on a Jitterbug.  He seems to almost want to return to the days of arranged marriages:

Once upon a time — in what we might think of as the “Happy Days” era — courtship was governed by a set of guardrails. Potential partners generally met within the context of larger social institutions: neighborhoods, schools, workplaces and families. There were certain accepted social scripts. The purpose of these scripts — dating, going steady, delaying sex — was to guide young people on the path from short-term desire to long-term commitment.

Now we have a dating free market, and free market conservative though he is, Brooks DOES NOT WANT!!!  Why? Because “texting and the utilitarian mind-set are naturally corrosive toward poetry and imagination.” Continue reading “is technology killing love and trust?”

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Dear Jim DeMint

I just read that one of my senators was the only one to oppose legislation to extend unemployment benefits.  I wrote him a letter immediately.  Here’s what I said:

Sen. DeMint,

I am deeply disappointed to read that you were the only Senator to vote against extending unemployment benefits. I recently celebrated the one-year anniversary of being laid off from my job in the real estate industry. Though I was only out of work for three months, I count myself among the blessed and lucky few who were able to obtain a new job so quickly. Many South Carolinians are not so lucky. In my time in the unemployment office, I saw people from all walks of life who were out of work and desperate. Unemployment is still very high, and if you are really working for South Carolinians, you would support our unemployment benefits, especially when our state has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country.

I can assure you, the benefits are not so cushy as to keep anyone from seeking a job. It was a fraction of what I made when I was employed, and I would not have been able to survive had I not had a spouse who was still employed. My unemployment wouldn’t have even covered COBRA for my health insurance which I lost when I lost my job.

I’m deeply disappointed and can’t help but feel that you took this terrible stand to get attention. Please don’t seek attention at the expense of out-of-work people in our state. Please be an advocate for the people who need you, particularly the unemployed who have been hit so hard by this economic downturn, especially as the holidays approach.

Here’s hoping he actually reads it, but at least I feel better knowing I tried to tell my representative how I feel.

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CSA Charleston: think it’s possible to eat too much soup?

Another week, another CSA post about our Pinckney’s Produce CSA share! Now that we’re into November, I’m actually pretty sad that we’ve only got two more boxes left, one we receive today and one we receive next week!

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Food styling by Jon this week. I came home from work and he had everything all laid out on the table, ready to be photographed.

This is what we got:

  • 1 head cabbage
  • 1 bunch mustard greens
  • 1 bunch collards
  • 1 head cauliflower
  • 4 small heads broccoli
  • 5 sweet potatoes
  • 2 bell peppers
  • lots of tomatoes
  • 1 eggplant
  • 2 rutabagas
  • green beans

The first night (Tuesday) Jon and I made two batches of soup AND dinner (and I managed to write a presentation for class the next day AND watch So You Think You Can Dance, because I am just that awesome, or, more honestly, because I can get a lot more done more quickly in the kitchen when Jon is helping). With the sweet potatoes and rutabagas we made another batch of the curried soup we so enjoyed last week, and we froze about 4 quarts of it. We also made broccoli cheddar soup (loosely following this recipe, except I just put the cheddar IN the soup– didn’t melt too well but it was delicious) with the broccoli and cauliflower.  We froze most of the soup, saving two servings to have for dinner the next night.  And for dinner, with half the mustard greens and half the collards, we made a batch of smoky beans and greens, which I also enjoyed for lunch at work the next couple of days. Continue reading “CSA Charleston: think it’s possible to eat too much soup?”

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live nudes!

Artist with Model by Paul Herman.

I’ve been trying to find a way to blog about a rather interesting aspect of my job–recruiting, hiring, and scheduling nude models for art classes– and today the perfect intro finally presented itself. David Pogue, a father, writes in the New York Times about his son’s work as a nude model for art classes, a job he holds in order to earn some spending money as a college student himself. Pogue writes that his son finds modeling an easy way to make some good money in only a few hours a week, as it is one of the best paying jobs on campus.

As a nude model recruiter, I can say I was happy to read that even at big colleges in Pennsylvania, the going rate is $15 per hour. Sometimes trying to recruit models in this Southern town is like pulling teeth, and I’ve worried we’re not paying enough. As someone in the department once remarked to me, there are plenty of other ways to make a lot more money being nude. The article quotes an art professor:

“There’s a difference between nude and nakedness,” says Charles Garoian, the director of the university’s visual arts program. Context is vital: a stripper is naked to arouse prurient urges, while a nude model is there to unleash an artist’s creativity.

Sounds a lot like what I once told a nervous young woman in my office to apply for a modeling job. She heard me on the phone talking to a friend about a Bible study and asked me what I thought about the “morality” of nude modeling. I can’t recall exactly what I told her, though I know I emphasized that she should not become a nude model unless she felt absolutely comfortable with that decision. I think I also told her about how my husband is a doctor, and would not have been able to become an M.D. without the people who volunteered as practice patients, getting nude in front of him so he could learn his craft. I told her that modeling is the same concept: allowing your body to be used so someone can learn their craft. I’m pretty sure I reassured her that our classes are very professional and respectful, that our professors would coach and guide her and help make sure she was comfortable. I think I told her that celebrating the body through art and exploiting it are two very different concepts. I should probably have told her that even some of the best religious art involves nudity.  I hope I told her that the body as it is created, is not something to be ashamed of.

As Pogue’s son’s modeling brochure reads:

You have just been inducted into one of the longest-standing traditions in the history of art…You are one of the select few who have provided their bodies for the betterment of other people. Because of people like you, we have the Da Vincis, the Van Goghs, the Warhols.

Perhaps one of the coolest things about my work with the models is seeing their confidence. Many of my best models have bodies of the sort that society would have us see as unattractive, and yet they have the confidence to bare it all in front of rooms full of college students. I wish I could bottle up their confidence and sell it to others, especially in a world where so many women are scared to wear a bathing suit, much less appear nude in front of a group! And of course, artists love a variety of body types– just take a walk through a museum and observe the various nudes in various shapes and sizes. My boss, a painter in his own work, is always telling me that drawing conventionally attractive bodies is “easy,” but bringing out the beauty in older or curvier or just plain different bodies is the work of a real artist. Many of the models love to see their representations, and some even buy the paintings or drawings from the students. Imagine being able to hang a testament to your own self-love on the wall!

Of course, as the article mentions, recruiting enough models to fill all our classes is always a challenge. So if you know anyone in my area willing to contribute their bodies to art, let me know!

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stranger than fiction

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Image via Twin Roses Designs, click image if you want to buy a Grim Reaper robe for yourself.

My medical-resident husband is always saying that “Scrubs” is the most accurate medical show. Sometimes reality seems determined to prove his point.

He’s working in an intensive care unit this rotation, and was on call Friday night. There was one patient whom everyone was sure wasn’t going to make it much longer. On Saturday moring, as my sleep-deprived hubby made rounds, he came out of one patient’s room to see a dark hooded, robed figure standing outside the room of that unlikely-to-make-it patient. Thinking for a brief moment that he saw Death Himself, my husband thought, “He’s come!”

But it turns out it was just a pharmacist, dressed like a vampire for Halloween.

Costume choice for intensive care unit: FAIL.

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the horror

image via Flickr user darkpatator.

I know I’ve already written a post defending real trick-or-treat-ing with candy. I fully support trick-or-treat-ing and especially candy. I like to carve pumpkins. I enjoy eating toasted pumpkin seeds. I even like to see kids in costumes and have enjoyed wearing costumes as an adult. But I’ve realized, in looking back on my memories of Halloween, that I don’t really “do” scary.  And scary is a big part of Halloween.

I think my first bad, “scary” memory is getting trapped in a haunted house ride as a second grader. The ride was at a little rinkydink amusement park next to the Little Rock Zoo, famous for it’s Boo at the Zoo events, and I was in the haunted house with my friend.  Apparently a rider before us had lost his hat in the course of the ride. Our little car rolled over the hat, and we became stuck. What had been up until that point only sort of scary got scarier and scarier as we sat next to a glowing skeleton in the dark, screaming “HELP!” and trying to be heard by the ride operator over the creepy soundtrack.  The operator soon realized we were stuck and got the lights on and us out pretty quickly, but the trauma lasted in bad dreams for a while after. Continue reading “the horror”

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Reviewing “Fireproof”

Last night we watched “Fireproof” because Jon Netflixed it after countless friends and family members told us we just had to see it.  Now, I spent a summer working in Family Christian Bookstore, and to say it made me cynical about “Christian” “art” would be an understatement, so I went into the movie fully expecting to mock and hate it. Jon knew this and was fully expecting my running commentary.

The basic plot of the film is that a married couple is on the brink of divorce, mostly because the husband is a borderline emotionally abusive, anger-freak, porn-loving, workaholic, layabout who disrespects his wife at every turn.  Meanwhile the wife is dealing with her aging parents and a mother who just had a stroke, so she is emotionally stressed and in need of support and encouragement, which she keeps finding in the form of a nice doctor at work instead of in her husband. One of the biggest points of contention is that the husband has saved up around $20k and wants to spend it on a boat, refusing to use that money to help his stroke-victim mother-in-law get a new wheelchair and bed. (Warning, some spoilers ahead, but if you don’t know how this one is going to turn out before you see it, then you don’t know jack about “Christian” fiction.) Continue reading “Reviewing “Fireproof””

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Southern Gentlemen?

Image via the Google Life Photo Archive.

The scene: my bus, around 8 am this morning. I am wedged between two other women in the front-area seats that face each other. To my right, the resident “church lady” is chatting about her revival, which was “awesome” in case you were wondering, and to my left, my neighbor is listening to head phones.  I’m just watching everyone, wondering if I should have brought a scarf, wishing I were still in bed. We stop at two or three more stops. Two men get on the bus, shaking hands with the bus driver and saying “Good Morning” to each of us in the front aisle-facing seats individually as they pass.  Clearly these two painters should have been politicians. Their paint-covered pants and shoes betray their real profession.  The bus moves on. We stop again. A young woman gets on. The bus is now full.  We stop again. A mom who often has her daughter with her but doesn’t this morning gets on, finds no place to sit, and takes a standing space.

The bus driver glances in the rear view mirror and sees her standing. “What, can’t none of you guys give her a seat?” He hollers this, apparently to the men of the bus. Some people shuffle around, suddenly remembering their manners. A seat materializes where two men had been taking up 3 seats between them. The mother sits down. Her face says she doesn’t want anyone making a fuss. I wonder if I’d rather be standing or wedged in between two guys who really take up 3 seats between the two of them. The bus driver, apparently satisfied that everyone is now acting like a gentleman, closes the doors and merges back into traffic.

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CSA Charleston: attack of the killer sweet potatoes

Another week, another post about what we got and what we did with our CSA box from Pinckney’s Produce! DSC05657This week’s haul:

  • 4 sweet potatoes, one of which was the size of a football
  • 2 heads broccoli
  • 2 bunches collards
  • 2 turnips with greens
  • 1 bunch mustard greens
  • 1 bag field peas/black eyed peas/bean-type things
  • 4 rutabagas
  • 4 slicing tomatoes
  • 6 small tomatoes
  • 4 peppers

When I went to pick up this week’s bounty, I was most impressed by one item in particular.  A sweet potato the size of a football. I held it up in astonishment and showed it off to the folks at the Glass Onion, one of my favorite local restaurants right by our house which happens to be our CSA pick up point. No one could believe the size of the monster sweet potato. In case you think I’m kidding, this is the beast both in my hand and on a dinner plate:DSC05658

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Insane, right? Continue reading “CSA Charleston: attack of the killer sweet potatoes”