If You Belonged Here

Inaugural Address

Did anyone else take one look at all those people freezing their butts off out there on the mall and think of March of the Penguins? I kept wanting to urge them to huddle closer together for warmth and I was a little worried about the people on the fringes, I mean we know that not every penguin makes it, right?

And seeing all those people out on the mall introduces a new question: where did all the penguin poop go? I don't remember seeing any. Not that I saw people poop out there but, seriously, there was so much discussion of the port-a-potty situation that it was impossible not to worry just a little.

Okay, so that's not exactly the most relevant thing I could say about last Tuesday. I could say all kinds of hopeful, heartwarming, and happy things about getting a new president, and even more importantly, getting rid of the old president. 

Now that the old president isn't president anymore, I think it's probably okay for me to ask the question that's been burning in me since, oh, say, somewhere around 2002: why didn't the one of the initial agencies take him out of the game? Was it the veep? Is that what kept him safe? I've thought this over from every angle and that's the only reasonable answer I can manage.

Think about all the suffering, money, and more importantly (at least to me) the embarrassment we could have saved ourselves. As the clock wound down on the last few days of the last administration, I kept expecting it to happen. I thought W might even fake his own death as a last ditch attempt to save his legacy and, quite possibly, avoid being tried as a war criminal in four years when the public gets access to all his files.

Do you think they destroyed the files? Maybe. I'm not even sure they were the kind of people who keep records, not so much because of the potential for self-incrimination, so much as all that writing and thinking stuff can be so tedious and, well, since they don't read reports themselves, they probably don't see the use in them.

But enough about them, let's talk about me. I am so ready to move forward in peace and dignity. Maybe only a modicum of dignity. Or maybe only relative dignity. But dignity none-the-less. And, I am glad to say, in all likelihood with at least a smidge less dignity than the man I am now proud to call my president.

Sweet Pete. I have so been looking forward to being less dignified and well-spoken than the president. It has been a long time since I have felt that the world wouldn't be at least a little better off if I were in charge. What a lovely change of pace.

From the Pyramid to the Arches

Mr. Poppins sent me this little funny. If you haven't already read it, take a moment. Seriously. I'll wait.

It seems that someone out there thinks that kids have food that they won't, might, and will eat. I have to say, this matches my personal experience as a parent. 

In my defense, I do load Lulu up on mandarin oranges, berries, apples, broccoli, and the occasional bite of melon. She washes it all down with water or chocolate milk. I make the chocolate milk myself by pairing organic, omega-3 fortified milk with Hershey's chocolate sauce, a pairing which defies logic unless you, like me, can understand how a chocolate bar and a diet soda cancel each other out.

Then it makes perfect sense.

Secret Lulu doesn't complain so the very idea that she would, after two hours of complaining, eat the chicken and potato is not something I have ever considered. Neither have I ever waited more than, oh say, two minutes before offering Secret Lulu an alternative entree should she turn her nose up at what I place before her. It is not unusual to see a couple of plates and a few bowls vying for space on Secret Lulu's placemat because maybe she'd rather have something else.

It is also not unusual for me to offer her a row of Smarties so she'll stay sitting at the table while Mr. Poppins and I finish our dinner and she ignores hers. I feel pretty good about this strategy as all the data suggests that the common denominator among National Merit Scholars is that they have families who sit together for meals, but I've never seen what they actually eat referenced so I don't think that part is necessarily important.

As for pizza, well, half the time Secret Lulu won't even eat it. She's got rather particular taste and if the crust, sauce, cheese ratio is in any way off, it's over before it even begins. She seems to prefer a medium crust, extra cheese, and sauce that is more sweet than acidic. Please, no frozen crap that gets heated in the oven. Delivery only. She looks forward to flirting with the delivery boy.

He's not my type, but he's not bad looking either.

And then there's McDonald's. Let me explain how I've convinced myself that this isn't the most unhealthy thing in the world. First of all we order the chicken nuggets. They're all-white meat and we don't get any sauce so it's not like she's getting loaded up with sugar. They are, however, a legitimate source of protein. I kind of have to just ignore the fact that the nuggets are deep fried.

I've got nothing to say about that.

We never get french fries. Well, we used to but Lulu prefers a more homestyle cut to her fries so I always ate them and, as I may have mentioned in a previous post, I had to buy new pants. I found that less than thrilling; however, Secret Lulu will eat the apple dippers, without the caramel dip, and even though the fact that these apples never brown in the air leads me to believe that there is something suspicious going on, well, I roll with it. I mean it's apples, what could be healthier or, if I may be so bold to add, more American than apples from freaking McDonald's.

I am about to burst into Stars & Stripes Forever just thinking about it.

Lastly, as I mentioned before, Lulu likes to wash stuff down with chocolate milk. You didn't think I was giving her soda, did you? Well, I'm not saying I give her soda, but I'm not not saying it either. Seriously. If I have something and Secret Lulu wants it, she can pretty much have it. Mostly I drink water with my meals but that's only mostly.

I'm not proud of it, people.

Anyway, that's it. Secret Lulu wins. I'll do whatever she wants. She's probably downstairs plotting her first raid on my booze as I type. Although, quite frankly, if she were to say please and maybe cry there's a good chance she could get me to give it to her outright.

She owns me.

 

Helvetica

So last night, just after I tucked Secret Lulu in bed, I went to find Mr. Poppins. He was off in a corner playing scrabble on his iPhone. No surprise there. I did not hesitate to interrupt him. Also not a surprise.

I rattled off a couple of Netflix titles by way of coaxing him away from the scrabble but, apparently, he was not impressed. Instead he asked, "How about my Helvetica movie?"

Finally someone has cause to be surprised. And it must have shown on my face because Mr. Poppins felt the need to remind me that he had mentioned this movie to me as an option over the weekend. So I say, "Oh, I remember. But I thought you were joking."

Let's rewind a little.

On Friday, Mr. Poppins came home with a movie, maybe documentary is a better description, devoted entirely to the typeface Helvetica. Now you may be familiar, through the wonder that is the Word program with this typeface. Perhaps, you refer to it as a font. If that is the case, I suggest you desist with such reference immediately. I cannot be responsible for what Mr. Poppins will think of you.

Let me explain: there is a difference between typeface and font, just as there is a difference between the alphabet and written words. A typeface is the meta-level structure of the letters. A font is that meta-level structure reduced to a particular point size and iteration, such as bold, italic, light, or some other combination. This is all very designerly and there was a time when I didn't think it really mattered but, well, I've learned not to say that out loud.

Which brings us back to Mr. Poppins coming home with a documentary based entirely on a single typeface, albeit one that revolutionized the world in much the same completely ignorable way that, say, to borrow from the movie, off-white paint made traditional white walls more easy on the eyes. How, pray tell, will the director fill up the time?

Turns out that there's a lot to say about this particular typeface: little-known history, conflict, revolution, reinvention, and ideology. Sweet Pete, there's even a woman's studies angle. Okay, maybe I made that part up, but I do distinctly remember one designer blaming the typeface for the Vietnam war. And also the current war in Iraq.

I say this for true. Although to be fair, the designer was halfway joking. At least about the war in Iraq, maybe not so much about Vietnam.

And designers are warriors. I had no idea. But they are. They are on a crusade to stamp out ugliness in the world. Or to messy it up, depending on which school of thought the particular designer subscribes. The arguments are passionate, the f-bomb was dropped.  This Helvetica controversy is all far more complicated than I ever imagined, not that I ever imagined it, and--again with the surprise--surprisingly engaging.

I cannot say the same about the forced march of "The English Patient" that Mr. Poppins led me on in the early days of our relationship. Do you know that I seriously thought the title of the movie was  "The English, Patient"? Emphasis on the comma to underscore how much I thought the movie was about English people being long-sufferingly patient. Although, I have learned that this, too, really is better off not being said out loud at our house.