Let's talk fonts

Today's pointless photo is, again, pointless. Just so you know.

Ok, fonts. Well, strictly speaking it's typefaces (for a good explanation of the differences have a look at this), but since the majority of people -- including me -- tend to say fonts instead of typefaces these days I'm just going to stick with the shorter word.

Feel free to grind your teeth, pedantic-types. I know I certainly do about other topics.

Today Google unveiled a new set of logos, including a new look to the main one we're all familiar with from the desktop search page. My reaction? Meh. It's kind of characterless, and a little too square for me somehow. I liked the curviness of the serifs. And with the previous font (see? now I'm having trouble saying font instead of typeface. Seriously. I didn't need to be more of a nerd) having lost the chunkiness of their earlier versions, it had a certain amount of grace. Now it has... uniformity? I dunno. I suppose it'll grow on me, but right now I'm finding it pretty dull.

But do typefaces (gah) even matter? Yeah, they do. We register them even if we don't realise that we do. Whether we want to or not, we think differently about the things we're reading depending on how they look. Typefaces (ok, fine. You're in typeface mode. Anyone who wants to mentally replace typeface with font every time you see it is welcome to do so) can make things look stodgy, strict, uptight, overly precious, approachable, childish... the list goes on, and you get that impression even if you're not involved in the design world. That's why companies put so much effort into typeface decisions. They really are the first impression.

So did anyone (anyone with complete font availability, that is. I have my defaults set up so that you may not be seeing what I'm seeing, depending on where/how you're viewing this) notice that the last paragraph was in Arial rather than Trebuchet? I'm not a huge fan of Arial, to be honest. It's a little plain and shouty. I suppose my feelings there come from it having been default for so many things for so long. That's why the blog defaults to Trebuchet instead, if your system has it. A bit rounder, slightly closer to handwriting with the little curve at the bottom of the l and t... yes, I actually did put a lot of thought into my default font. And now that I'm thinking layout, you'll see that the word font has come more easily than typeface. It's how they're listed in computer applications, so all of a sudden typing font is ok with my brain.

My brain's weird, but that's not news.

I'm not a font nerd (this one's Georgia, by the way, and that again depends on whether your system has Georgia installed) but as a pattern-oriented person I'm certainly aware of them and definitely take a little bit of time when choosing them. I also get a chuckle out of so-called Font Wars, where nerdier people than even me actually argue about the merits of different typefaces. Prime example of that, of course, is the "war" over Comic Sans. Designers hate Comic Sans (some of the reasons are here, which saves me from making this post even longer) and I can't say that I'm exactly a fan, but I've used it for a couple of displays.

Yes, that's right. I've used it, and I'm not ashamed to say it. The thing is, Comic Sans is the most readily available (note that I'm not saying the best; just readily available) easily readable font for that type of thing. Many dyslexics, for example, have a slightly easier time picking things out in Comic Sans. I had some short display texts that were supposed to be for a variety of ages, so at the time I put them in Comic Sans. Would I do it now? Maybe. It would depend on what else I had available. If I did, though, I certainly wouldn't give a rat's behind if you called me a Comic Sans Criminal.

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I have more to say about fonts (who knew? Ah well, I'm always looking for blog fodder), but I need to wrap up for now. I'll leave you with a slightly related topic (depending on how ugly you find the new Google logo): ugly flags. Have you seen the choices that New Zealanders have if they decide to go with a new flag? Wow. Not sure how I'd go on that one. Maybe the fiddlehead if it was white and blue instead of white and black? Ah well, good luck to them. We went through it in Canada too, fifty years ago last February, and I think it turned out all right for us.

Just one more question

 As opposed to one lonely shrivelled apple, I guess.

Anyway, the post title. I just got off the phone with someone from Stats Canada who's been trying to get a hold of me for a while. A month or so ago I got a lovely letter in the mail informing me that I'd been chosen for some labour study in which I'll be contacted once a month for half a year to answer questions. Our representative will be contacting you soon. It's important blah blah blah and oh yeah it's mandatory and you can go to jail if you don't comply.

Always gotta love government paperwork that comes with friendly banter and threats, right?

Well, a while later he phoned me at work when I was in the middle of something. He got my voice mail. A day or so later there was a notice on my door that he'd come in person and would I please call back. Ok, yeah, I'll get to it.

Then, you'll recall, my gut exploded.

I didn't have my phone for a while (long story, but they managed to misplace my stuff), and then when I finally got it the phone was dead anyway, so I had to wait for Dad to pick up my charger before I could even get my messages.

Six voice mails from Stats Canada guy. Six. And when I phoned him back -- from my hospital bed, no less (ok, seriously? I had nothing else to do so I figured whatever) -- I got his voice mail. I left him a guess what? I'm in hospital message, and then didn't hear from him. At all. Cue the hope that maybe they'd given me a miss.

No such luck. There was a message on the weekend when I had my phone off, and a call from him this morning. So yeah, I've finally done my patriotic duty (whatever, again) for the month. But in the mindset that turnabout's fair play, here's my question for Stats Canada:

You seriously make your employees seem that tenacious/annoying? You don't let them give up after over a week of no answer? The initial letter wasn't addressed to me, by the way. It was my apartment that was chosen by whatever algorithm they use. So what happens if a person's on long-term holiday? Has medical issues, like I did? Just doesn't ever answer the door to strangers? Do you really still make joe stats guy phone every damned day?

I'm not sure I'd last too long at a job like that. I have no desire to be seen as a government cockroach who just won't go away...

I suppose that it's his choice in the end, but geez.

Let's move on quickly to today's misnamed rock, Dendritic Pearl Opal. Neither a pearl nor an opal, this stone's a piece of agate or chalcedony that has been given a fancy name to help it sell better. The dendrites are sometimes erroneously called fossils, but they're really just a dark mineral (often manganese oxide) that's percolated through cracks in the rock making tree-like patterns.

All this futz about silly names and metaphysics (which I'm completely not getting into today. Sorry that you're missing out on the weirdness) for what is, in fact, a fairly striking-looking rock all on its own. There would have been nothing wrong with calling this dendritic chalcedony and leaving pearls AND opals to be pearls and opals, you know?

After looking at so much crystal oddness lately, I suppose that I just wish I could look up one of my rocks and find out that it doesn't cure anything.



Maybe I should get myself a piece of sandstone. Ah, but even then we'd be dealing with the wonders of tiny pieces of quartz, no doubt.





The weirdness finds you everywhere, I tell you.

So when you find yourself wearing asbestos...

I said before that sometimes I'll pick out a neat looking rock without knowing much about it, intending to look it up later. With this one, though, I had a little trouble. My two fans will remember (and I'm too lazy to link to the old post, so use the search bar if you're interested) that I managed to forget the name of this specimen before I had time to research it, and that kind of thing drives my latent librarian absolutely nuts.

I have an olf need to catalogue things, for those new to the program.

Well, I finally found out that it's chrysotile, and that name faintly rang a bell at the time. No wonder. Chrysotile is a form of asbestos. Yeah, I thought that it would be a good idea to wear asbestos. Because it was kind of pretty.

The asbestos industry (especially here in Canada, unfortunately) will tell you that chrysotile is the safest form of asbestos to use, and some research backs that up. However, even if it doesn't cause lung cancer as quickly as the amphibole forms of asbestos, it's still a carcinogen. I kind of hate that my country has been one of the biggest lobbiers to have restrictions loosened on it just to protect a dying industry. And yes, I do realise that the industry is still very important to those involved in it, but sometimes you have to back down, you know? Just like I know how important Alberta oil is to the country's (and province's) economy, but that doesn't mean that I accept the environmental cost that the oil sands development is creating.

Aaanyway...

Here's my little piece of the asbestos pie, then. I still wear it, by the way. It's perfectly safe in this form.

And besides, you have to admit that it's kind of pretty.

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Oops, forgot to add the weirdness factor. Chrysotile apparently aids in divination and telepathy, helps you find your spirit animal and access ancient knowledge, and encourages honesty and sincerity.

It is used to treat arteries, abrasions, lung disorders, MS, and chronic fatigue (sheesh).

It can also give you lung cancer. Ok, so I added that last part.

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Lunch time for me, now. Things seem to be going decently at the moment, so I might aim to be down here doing a little doodling this afternoon. If it happens, you'll see it on the other blog. Erm, if I can find the scanning software for the printer, that is. Kind of forgot that I haven't done that yet...

Late post because rocks!

Yes, my favourite rock shop was having its annual fall sale so of course I had to stop on my way to Dad's place. I should explain for anyone new to the program that I like to wear rocks. I'm not a huge fanatic about them and I'm also not one of those who believes that they have powers, but they're fun. I don't wear them everywhere, though. Mostly to work, because the kids (and sometimes the big kids) find them interesting. It's a good way to lead into other facets (Ha! Facets! See what I did there?) of geology. Sneaky, huh.

This sale, by the way, is borderline huge. They take over most of a small mall, with tables all down the hallways. They also take over any unused retail space. There are lots of rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. And it's fairly hard not to spend lots and lots of money.

Before I get into this year's haul, a couple of notes. The picture's background is, as usual, my piano. The rubbed-off area on the right is where everyone keeps grabbing it as they come in the door. And the white flecks just tick me off. They were left by some ceiling painters who had no bloody idea how to cover furniture. They also managed to take some antique music off of a music stand, put it on the piano, and then glop a whole bunch of paint on it. The stuff would have been better off left on the stand. I wasn't thrilled.

Note number two is that while I was at the sale I remembered to check the name of the forgotten green and white rock from this post. It made me laugh when I saw it. Chrysotile. Otherwise known as asbestos, and I should have remembered that. Don't worry -- it's perfectly safe when it's in massive form. Kind of attractive, too. I just wouldn't want to be the one polishing it.

Ok, on to the new stuff. Above you'll see two pairs of earrings (lapis on the left, amethyst on the right), mostly because I can't remember the last time I bought earrings and these were cheap. Cheapness rates high for me, as my two fans know. At the bottom, a snake chain that I picked up way cheaper (yay) than I would have at the store where I got no service (for those who don't remember, try this post. For those who do remember... why?). In the centre, a little pinkie ring that I thought was kind of cute. It's a bird of some sort. It looks kind of like a swan, but knowing this store and its occasionally... shall we say overly spiritual... customers it's probably supposed to be a phoenix or something. I'm going with swan, personally.

Now for the rocks. Going clockwise, the white one is dendritic opal (actually more of an agate. And the dendritic part just means branching like a tree). Then we have (well, I have) a piece of jade, which, yes, I'll be wearing in a cage like the rocks in the first linked post above. If I didn't cage them they might fly away, you know. Next is chevron amethyst (sorry for the slight weirdness of the link. It can be hard to find mineral/crystal links that don't go all chakra on you. And chevron amethyst is technically quartz mixed with quartz, since amethyst is a form of quartz) with a little piece of garnet, and finally a small ammonite that's been left with some of the matrix surrounding it and then polished. I don't buy a lot of fossils since it kind of bothers me when they're used for jewellery instead of science, but ammonites are pretty common and undeniably interesting-looking.

That's more than I intended to buy, really, but it should keep the cravings down for quite a while.

Since I'm going to end on somewhat of a sad note, let's have some kittens.

Ok, they're really here because I had the camera out for the rocks and I didn't have any recent shots of the boys. There will likely be more in a day or two.

A quick update on the turkey brothers, then. Tom has put on a growth spurt and is starting to look like he might be the long, lanky type. Bob so far is looking more solid, but that can change as he gets bigger. They're both still cute as anything when they're tired, and little shits very busy and actively in trouble when they're not. I imagine that I'll have more to say about them as the weekend goes on, because of course the internet needs more cat stories.

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Ok, the last thing. I see that there's been another school shooting in the States today. Very sad, and very sad that it's so predictable. Part of the reason we in Canada are pretty freaked out about the Parliament Hill shootings (other than the big, giant, shocking fact that we could have had government members killed as easily as Cpl. Cirillo) is that we don't have the gun culture to expect that someone's likely to run up and shoot an unarmed honour guardsmen in the back. In the US they likely would have been upset about such a shooting, but I expect that they would move on pretty quickly to demanding that every single person in the area should be armed anyway.

Canada? Please let's not go there, ok? I don't ever want to have to live like that.



And I don't really want to end a post like that so... um... go back and look at the pretty rocks or something. See you later.

The yearly rant

Clearly, the Turkey Brothers have learned how to not help with the laundry.

Tom has also learned the term GET DOWN. Or at least the tone of voice. I suspect he may have had a little help from the smack fairy... oh, wait. Some of you won't get the reference, and if you don't it sounds more abusive than I mean it to. Gimme a second...

Ok, here we go. British sketch comedy as usual.

Anyway, the boys are still doing well, and are little shits kittens. Hard to believe at this point that they'll ever settle down, but I know that they will. They're frustrating, sweet, and entertaining as hell. In other words, yeah, they're kittens.

They've also already learned that hearing the fridge door open at certain times may mean a good chance of getting meat scraps (gee, I wonder who taught them that? It definitely wasn't me). It's kind of funny, because back when my Dad was still teaching the old cats knew that if they showed up in the kitchen when he was making his sandwich to take for lunch, they'd likely get a treat. Kind of early for these two to have formed the habit, but it's there now so I can't do much about it. Which brings me to the yearly rant.

Oh, and sorry if this comes off as crabby. I'm not really, but this computer's getting old enough that it's sometimes faster to post things to the internet by using a stone tablet. As well, I forgot my wrist tensor at home, so I'm dealing with an annoyingly achy joint. Ought to be fun when I try to do the art thing in a few minutes. Having said that, then, here's the subject suggested by the cats' new-found love of turkey (we had our supper yesterday) and the usual internet greetings I've been noticing pretty much everywhere:

Don't say Canadian Thanksgiving, Canadian bloggers/tweeters/whateverelsers. For pity's sake. This time of year I see it everywhere. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone! I mean, it's one thing if someone from an American site says it, because they're clarifying it for their readers. But when known Canadian internet personalities insist on adding Canadian to Thanksgiving, it's more than clarification. It's apologising. And while it's cliché that we're known for apologising, in this case it's just annoying. It's see, Americans? We have one too. Never mind that our first Thanksgiving was actually before the Pilgrims. Never mind that if you're a Canadian and people know that you're Canadian, the Americans will probably figure out that you're talking about a Canadian holiday when you say Thanksgiving a month earlier than they're expecting it. Saying Happy Canadian Thanksgiving when you just mean Thanksgiving is like putting up your hand timidly in the back of the room to ask the American commercial giant if it's ok to have a different Thanksgiving than the one that they advertise.

Yeah, it annoys me a little. And it is so cliché Canadian that it kind of makes me want to headdesk whenever I see it. I know you all mean well, but can't we just own our own holidays for once? After all, we're allowed to spell colour with a u around here. We can have different stats as well, right?

Um, that would be short for Statuary Holiday. Government-mandated days off with pay, where you usually get time and a half if you have to work them. It's a Canadian thing.

Kind of like Thanksgiving.



Happy American Columbus Day, everyone.

Women

I needed a flower today. Outside it still looks like January. It's warmer today, though (finally), so maybe I'll go out and take some pictures of melting things this afternoon.

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So, it's International Women's Day, and I... completely don't care. I think that it's a little bit silly, to be honest.

Yeah, I know that things are far from perfect for women (and for men, for that matter, but I suppose that we're talking women here). I know that there is a lot yet to be done about workplace equality, women's rights in general, and, in many places, even women's safety and rights as human beings.

Does a Day really help that, or does it just give those who are tired of hearing the (unfortunately often strident) voices calling for changes another reason to stop up their ears even more? I dunno. All I know is that I'm already tired of my twitter feed being filled with links to "5 Inspirational Female _______" and things like that. In an odd way it reminds me too much of being Canadian.

Should I explain that?

Canada. Perfectly nice place. Massive inferiority complex. Big, noisy neighbour to the south. We're constantly playing the game of See? Such-and-such famous person is ACTUALLY a CANADIAN!!! to make ourselves feel a bit better about not being the big, noisy neighbour to the south.

That's a bit like what International Women's Days and other commemorations are for me. See? Women can do ALLLLL of these things!!!

Of course we can. So do it. It's just like all these initiatives to get more women in the sciences. You want to be in the sciences, women? Then do it. You want to do something else? Then do that.

Ok, full disclosure. The women in science initiatives drive me a little nuts because in my field (biology, that'd be. Zoology, to be more specific) there were almost always more women than men in my university courses. All that hearing we need more women in science did for me was to inform me that the people pushing it didn't consider my science to be REAL science. After all, you're not a scientist if you're wearing hip waders instead of a lab coat, right?

I wore both, actually, when I was in school.

Well, not at the same time, of course.

Anyway, since I suppose I should make a slightly more tangible contribution to the day than just saying that it's not really necessary, let me end by saying that commercials aimed at women are the STUPIDEST THINGS EVER.

Well, maybe not ever. But they rank right up there. Cascade Kitchen Counsellor helping women with dishwashing angst (because only women do dishes, I guess)? Ode to an Armpit? Have a Happy Period (gaaaaaaaaaaah)? Women, if you want to be treated as equals maybe start with insisting on advertising that assumes women have brains.

It's not exactly up there with Votes for Women, but it would make this particular woman a lot less annoyed on a daily basis.

Chapter 1652: Wherein... Deer!

Yes, the pointless photo isn't of a deer. I do know the difference between a deer and a ladybird beetle. I just didn't have the camera out when the deer were in the yard this morning.

It was mule deer again as usual. A couple of them, from what I could see. It's the first chance I've had to see deer in the yard this season. They've probably been here before, of course, but from a combination of me not coming home to visit my father for a couple (hmmm... three, actually) of weekends and the fact that noticing the deer involves accidentally looking out of one of the bedroom windows at exactly the right time, this became the first sighting of the fall for me. We don't see the deer much in the summer time because they have plenty of other sources of food, but come the fall and winter they start hanging out in the neighbourhood a fair bit.

I'll probably be seeing a lot of deer between now and the spring.

I admit it -- I still geek out over the deer. I see them at least a few times over the course of the winter, and I still get excited. I work at a nature centre where deer and moose are by no means uncommon, but I'll still run to the window if I see one go past the office.

I'm not the only one.

I'm not entirely sure what it is (I know that for me at least the whole Bambi thing doesn't enter play. That's not how I see nature), but there's something about the fact that such large mammals are still around in urban environments that's somehow thrilling. Maybe it's a sign that we haven't  (yet) screwed things up so much that they're gone. Maybe it's a feeling that we're not as disconnected from the natural world as we generally think we are.

Maybe it's just that seeing a deer is neat. I dunno.

I was reading (well, skimming) an article the other day that said that large predators like coyotes were on the rise in urban areas. The article's headline, at least, made it sound like some invasion that we should be wary of. Why? In many ways, the presence of large predators indicates the health of a system. Large predators need prey. Prey need food. Without food for the prey and prey for the predators, large predators disappear. And if it so happens that an urban area can support large predators, that's... it's cool, dammit.

And if it so happens that large predators are living on stray cats and dogs and that bothers you, then do something about making sure that there are less stray cats and dogs.

Anyone want to start singing The Circle of Life with me right about now? Um, on second thought, no. And I'm so not linking to that. Find it yourself if you want that song in your head all day.



Aaanyway. There were deer in the garden this morning. I was glad. I was glad even though they eat plants that I'd rather see survive the winter. I'm good that way, though. Plants vs deer? Ok, I'll allow the loss of a few plants if it means I can tell Dad that there are deer in the back as I'm getting dressed in the morning.

Wouldn't you?

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I've realised that I have a new pet peeve. I realised it as I sat here eating leftover turkey with crackers for breakfast this morning. The pet peeve isn't turkey, however, despite what you might be thinking now. I definitely approve of turkey. What I don't approve of is Canadian Thanksgiving.

Sorry, let me change the emphasis there: Canadian Thanksgiving.

Why do we Canadians say Canadian Thanksgiving? It's Thanksgiving. Here in Canada. Do we really need to spell it out? Oh sure, we're just differentiating it from American Thanksgiving, which is later (and, as usual, louder), but unless you're explaining that to a group of Americans do you really have to say Canadian Thanksgiving?

Interesting fact, by the way (according to the internet, anyway, so take it with the usual grain of salt. Or bucket of salt, as needed): First American Thanksgiving? 1621, by the Pilgrims. First Canadian Thanksgiving? 1578, by Martin Frobisher. Yes, Frobisher as in Bay.

For non-Canadians, I'll leave you to look that one up. For Canadians, too, considering how good we generally are at celebrating or even remembering our own history.

I suppose I've just read a few too many Canada-based blogs saying Happy Canadian Thanksgiving this morning, but it started to get annoying. It's so stereotypically Canadian apologetic, after all. Hi everyone, we're having Thanksgiving. I know it doesn't seem like the right time to be having Thanksgiving, but I guess that's how we do it up here in Canada. It's Canadian Thanksgiving. Sorry that it's not the same as yours...

Ah well. For those of you in the States who still have a ways to go before your pumpkin pie, I will tell you that there's one distinct advantage to having an earlier Thanksgiving: avoiding holiday overload. I don't know how you folks do it, to be honest. To go from a big family holiday straight into the hassle of shopping for another big family holiday? My head would explode.





Good lord. I've just looked at how long this post is. Maybe I was trying to make up for the lack of post tomorrow, since I won't be near a computer? Let's just go with that. I'll see you in a couple of days.

In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving.

That's right, just Thanksgiving.



Dammit.

Again.

Way to celebrate the holiday, Dee

You'll have to excuse me if I'm not exactly wordy today (gee, and that's different from most days how?). The mood is definitely taxy at the moment.

What's that?

No, not taxing. Or taxi (and what kind of mood would taxi be if it could be a mood? Now I'm kind of curious. Would it be a moving one?). Taxy. As in April 30th.

Yeah, for whatever reason I chose this morning to do my taxes. Hey, I wasn't doing anything else...

Ok, I do realise that it's sort of weird, but at least now they're done. Online this year, for the first time. Usually we buy tax software for the family (Dad, me, and my uncles) but Dad must have waited a little too long to be able to find it in this small town this year. Rather than wait and pick it up in the city, I just decided to get it over with and give one of the online services a try for a change.

How was it?

IT WAS DOING TAXES. How do you think it was?

Ok, seriously? It was fine. My return's pretty simple anyway, so I think that any service that allows a person to enter T4s and T3s without opening every form available would have done the trick. I won't bother telling you which company I went with because I don't have much more to say about the experience than it allowed me to do my taxes without a calculator. Such a glowing recommendation, really. They'd probably love for me to e-mail in that testimonial...

Anyway.

In honour of this weekend's spring festival -- whether you celebrate it religiously or not -- I thought I'd leave you with what little colour is trying to struggle through the cold Alberta soil this early. Up top, a photo from Friday. To the left, the same plants on Saturday. Hello crocusses.

I thought I'd better take their pictures before the deer eat them. Crocusses and tulips have a pretty finite life in this yard. I guess we should plant more daffodils instead.

Speaking of which, don't forget that April is the Canadian Cancer Society's Daffodil campaign, so if you or someone you love has been affected by cancer, please consider buying some flowers during Daffodil Days, wearing a pin, or adding a daffodil to your facebook page or twitter profile.

Show them your support, everyone.

A question

And it'll have to be a quick one, which is sort of unfortunate since I won't be around a computer for the next days, which means this lame post will stay at the top of the page for far too long.

Anyway.

Oh, and my apologies to those of my two fans who happen to not be Canadian  for this one, ok?

Here goes:

I've asked this before, but it needs to be asked again because I really don't get it. Coffee drinkers out there (of which I'm not one, so I doubly don't get it), can you please tell me what form of crack Tim Hortons must be putting in their beverages?

It's got to be something like that, right? Nothing else would explain the fact that every time I drive past the Tims down the hill from my place -- no matter what time of day -- there's a line-up for the drive-through that goes all the way out to the road.

As I said, I don't get it. I don't get the coffee bit in the first place because to me the stuff tastes vile (and I'm not talking about Tims coffee there; just coffee in general). I don't get buying coffee by the cup rather than just making it yourself (yes, I'm cheap). And I don't get why this one particular company has so much become the Canadian THING.

The long drive-through queue I just described? Not just at my neighbourhood Tims, no. Pretty much every Tim Hortons known to this country, it seems.

And yes, I know that it's currently Roll Up The Rim time and all that, but the line-ups don't stop just because the contest does.




Erm, sorry. I just noticed that today's completely unseasonal and pointless flower looks like it's heiling Hitler. I didn't see that in the thumbnail...

Ah well. I guess if people want to pay too much for a beverage that I don't want, it doesn't really affect me in the end. It's just a puzzlement, is all.

And with that (and I have no real idea what brought Yul Brynner into the whole thing), I'll leave you to your weekend and me to mine. See you in a few days, and don't forget to change your clocks.