Ragtag grab-bag
I contributed an article to the zine FAQNP for its third issue, “A Queer Nerd Travel Guide”. My photo feature, “A Type Nerd’s Time in India”, is a look at how well (or for the most part, how badly) a variety of western brands like Citibank and McDonald’s carry through their typographic branding when they use the local scripts in different Indian cities.
About five years ago, when I was getting ready to move to England and take another crack at grad school, I was starting to worry about what to do with all my stuff. I’d surrendered many treasures as I downsized and moved from one place to another, but emigrating — even if it would only be for a year — would require me to pare down to the essentials once and for all, and even then I’d probably need to give preference to relevant books for my course.
Luckily, my brother generously agreed to let me use the attic of his large house to store all the boxes of things that I couldn’t take, but wasn’t quite prepared to throw away or sell. In the years since, as I’ve adjusted to the idea that I may be living here for quite a while, I’ve emptied out a box or two when possible, throwing away things that don’t seem quite so precious anymore and bringing some of the treasure back to the UK.
Last week I sorted through the stack of boxes again, grabbing a few essential books I’d been missing and rescuing a small stack of ephemera I’ve been collecting for the past thirty years or so. Looking through the pile is like finding old friends again, and unleashing a flood of memories. I suspect many of the the tidbits will make their way into Pink Mince eventually, but here’s a selection of other things with less editorial potential.
Ticket stub from the Cyclone at Coney Island
Flyer for a divorce sale — “Everything is cheap but HIS stuff is cheaper”
Flyer for a “Scottish” gay bar in Rio de Janeiro
Note given to me by a 15-year-old deaf boy when I was working the front desk at Waterstone’s in Boston
A couple of John Waters autographs from 1989 or so.
Much more beloved Waters memorabilia: copies of various scripts from films of his.
That dashing young man would one day become one of the FBI’s most-wanted men, but let’s stop for a moment to appreciate a different kind of desirability he once had. That head of hair alone makes me jealous, but you also have to give him props for style. As Esquire says: “the mug shot is a strange amalgam of Jim Stark and Roger Sterling. He’s the rebel with a cause, the real tough from whom the Hollywood toughs were ripping off their style.”
Notorious mobster Whitey Bulger, we can’t condone your actions, but nevertheless we salute you.
After living out of suitcases for the past few months, I finally get to settle down again this month. I was spared the horrors and aggravation of gambling on strangers when some friends of mine in Greenwich let me know that one of them was moving out and freeing up a room, a much better situation — in terms of rent, location, and housemates — than I was facing otherwise. So I’ll be south of the river again, happily reunited with my books and the rest of my clothes. I’ll also be living in a neighborhood where I’ll be within walking distance of decent food and places to hang out, a welcome relief from the general lack of amenities in Leyton. (It was a nice enough two years in a super flat with a super housemate, but sorry, Leyton, as a neighborhood you kinda suck.)
On the whole, Greenwich looks like a great area. There’s the nice bit nearby, with the shops and observatory and the river taxi and the park. In the other direction are trains which will get me up to my studio or down to the office with minimal fuss. Lots of charm and amenities, to say the least. However, the gentleman whose room I’m taking points out an exciting piece of trivia that dwarfs all of that, at least this morning. It seems as if the pharmacy on the corner down from the new place is actually the site of Underhill Studio, where David Bowie developed Ziggy Stardust.
Early in 1971 Bowie was regarded as washed-up, a one-hit wonder. That summer he worked up Hunky Dory, which was a critics’ fave but initially made no impact on the charts. Then around September 1971 he started work on the album that would make his name: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. And Ziggy, the ultimate rock-’n’roll creation, was hatched at Underhill.
Hunky Dory had been put together in the recording studio, without any preparation. Ziggy was the one time when Bowie worked as a proper band, with guitarist Mick Ronson, bassist Trevor Bolder and drummer Woody Woodmansey, taking time to work out the songs beforehand. “It was a bit more rock and roll and we were a rock band,” says Bolder. “So doing that album was more like Oh yeah, we know what to do with this. We rehearsed it, we went in and we played. At Underhill Studios in Greenwich.
— Paul Trynka, Starman: David Bowie – The Definitive Biography
There’s a bit more detail at The Greenwich Phantom, but essentially, yeah — I’ll be buying aspirin at the conceptual birthplace of Ziggy Stardust come next month.
I’m tempted to bill Fontlab for all the lost hours, but it crashes too often for me to bother keep track.
I spent the day working on a custom version of this typeface, thinking that it’s one of those designs that only seems to deserve its fame when it’s used just right, but the rest of the time feels a bit off. I don’t love it, but I have a deep affection for it. Avant Garde was, after all, the typeface that turned me into a typographer.
When I was a pimply 14-year-old freshman in high school who still just wanted to draw comics for a living, I joined the staff of the school newspaper hoping to contribute a bit of art now and then. One of the first things I was taught was the use of the Kroy machine, which set type on transparent strips of adhesive tape for the headlines in the paper. Among the font discs we had on hand was Avant Garde Demi, and it included a number of the alternate glyphs that actually make this design interesting. Playing with that font and that machine was the first time I thought about the visual possibilities of a certain style of letter, and how you could create something by manipulating how you arranged letters. It wasn’t an immediate conversation, but something clicked, connected to my fascination with comic book titles and sound effect balloons, and — obviously — eventually led to a lifelong fixation.
I had a vivid imagination as a kid, in a way that is a lot harder to maintain once you get older and have to devote more and more mental space to the rest of the world. I wasn’t lonely, but I spent quite a bit of time alone. This wasn’t a matter of deprivation at all — I had plenty of friends in the neighborhood, and was typically active, at least as much as a nerdy introvert who didn’t like sports was likely to be. I guess perhaps it feels like I spent so much time alone just because that time was creatively rich.
I invented characters and worlds, built spaceships and house out of boxes and styrofoam packing inserts and Lego and odds and ends. I collected action figures, but ignored who they were “supposed” to be and made them into new characters. Before 1977 my cast was primarily made of Fisher-Price Adventure People, but after 1977, well:
…there was really no other competition.
[via I Am So Retro]
[via Be My Valentino]
I’ve been trying to be diligent about duplicating here what goes into my Tumblr feeds now that I’ve pulled the old stuff into the archives, but this time it makes more sense to combine these three posts into one.
As much as the stories and the images of old comics seared themselves into my memory as I grew up, the ads in them are burned in even deeper. The repetition of seeing the ads in issue after issue, month after month, give them a certain resonance. Here, then, are a few favorites that popped up on Public Collectors.
Continue reading “Childhood dreams”