Calligraphy and My First Full Time Job

I've long had a love for words, not just in how they sound but also in how they appear in print.

When I was 19, I bought a book called Letraset Product Manual, for the sole purpose of flipping through to admire the artistic letter styles.  It was hard to find and wasn't cheap, but I had income, very few responsibilities, and an eclectic taste in art.

When I was 21, I took a brief calligraphy course through the local Continuing Ed.  After that, I hand calligraphed some certificates for a non-profit organization, but never used this skill for my financial gain.

My already neat handwriting improved, though.  I take joy in adding a flourish to the tails on my lower case y's or g's even on things as mundane as grocery lists.

What a joy for me when I discovered computer fonts, which were rapidly growing in those mid 1980s.

My first full time job at the age of 18 was as a typesetter for the local newspaper.

Basic fonts like Helvetica and Times New Roman were employed by the dinosaur typesetting machines on which I transcribed handwritten notes from reporters into camera-ready sheets for layout.

But there were some fonts that caught my eye, which I could not resist occasionally sneaking to use for frivolous things such as my name.

Oooh, if my boss would have caught me, I know he would have screamed at me in front of everyone in the office.  If you knew my boss, you would know that is no exaggeration.  Ernie Bexley was a notorious name in the newspaper industry around Vancouver, BC.

Seriously, one time he called me into his office, where his stern wife stood glaring at me.  The two of them proceeded to yell at me about the hat I was wearing during work.

I had never heard of a "no hats" policy in the production room of the place I'd worked for nearly two years.

On and on they went until I left the office with tears in my eyes.

As I walked past the reporters, a few of them gave me sympathetic glances.  I knew full well that they, too, had been yelled at by the Bexleys, and not necessarily in the privacy of a thin-walled office.

The Bexleys had challenged me to find any other newspaper who allowed the wearing of hats in the production room.

So that is exactly what I did when I got home.

I called, among a few other newspaper production rooms, Pacific Press, where the Vancouver Sun and The Province are produced.

"I'm calling to ask what your policy is on people wearing hats in the production room," I said.

The bemused voice on the other end went along with my odd question and we conversed.

In short, it was revealed to me that there was no concern whatsoever as to what clothing was chosen by production staff as they were out of the public eye.

The question was posed to me, "May I ask which newspaper has given you such a hard time?"

As soon as I said, "The Delta Optimist," I could almost see the knowing nod of a head and the rolling of eyes as the man said, "Ah, yes, Ernie Bexley."

It is now a laughable memory for me, and working from home, I don't expect I will ever be in a position of hearing negative words from abusive bosses again.  I am free to squander company time if I so choose, because I am my own company.

Here's one site I found in a recent squandering session:

DaFont.com


And here are a few lovely signatures I have sampled on that site:

This one is called "Delinquente".  I like that title.

This one is "Before The Rain".

This one has the odd title of "Ink In The Meat".

This one is "Jellyka Delicious", and looks quite like something I would write by hand.

  This one is called  "Respective".

This one is "Some Weatz" (whatever that means).

This one is entitled "The King and Queen".




This last one is called "Sh*t Happens" (without the asterisk, but I avoid cuss words in my writing.)

OK, my squander session is over for today.  Thanks for reading, and may you be inspired to write some pointless blog entries of your own, knowing that you yourself have taken the time to read something as pointless as this.  Muah!

Squandrously yours,






Aerosmith:  Kings and Queens

And, oh, my, I cannot resist adding one more song to this blog:

(Dang you, EMI, for blocking the studio version from my country.  Oh well, y'all probably know this Joe Cocker song, "You Can Leave Your Hat On", and possibly its famous scene to go with it from the movie "9-1/2 Weeks", but anyway, Mr. Bexley, now deceased, I'm gon' leave mah hat on.  Cha!)

Men

Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men...

Oooh, I hate that show "Two And A Half Men", although I admit the theme song is funny and head-sticking.

But I do like men!

Before you jump to the conclusion that I'm some kind of hussy (LOL! What a word - "hussy"), hear me out.

I feel I need to explain myself on the fact that I like men as opposed to being a "man-hater", as one man has accused me of being.

To accuse me of being a "man-hater" is, to me, outrageous.

There are men with a lot of good in them, and there are men with a lot of bad in them, but I couldn't fairly say that I believe all men are bad and therefore should be hated. To me, that is immature thinking at best, and delusional or even psychotic thinking at worst.

One evening last month, I went into my basement and my nostrils were assaulted by the scent of men's cologne.

I loudly said, "It smells like men down here."

Two of my teenaged daughters were sitting on my 17-year-old daughter's bed, having just sprayed some Axe into the air.

My 14-year-old daughter started singing, "Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men..."

My 17-year-old daughter said, "Attractive men?"

I said, "Well, yes, preferably."

But I was being silly.

Really, if there were ANY men in our basement, I would not be concerned about whether or not they were attractive.

Any person in my basement would give rise to the question, "Who are you and what are you doing in my basement?" regardless of gender, asked verbally, or by silently watching to find out the answer.

I may be a strange kind of woman, but to be honest (and there is no better way to be), I don't notice men very often. I recently told this to one of my best friends, who is a man, and he found it hard to believe, but I swear it is true.

Most of my closest friends are men. And something I have noticed about them is that all but one of them live with their mother.

That's gotta be good, huh? Men who love their mothers so much that even though they are grown men, they choose to live with her. The only one who doesn't is my husband, but before he met me, he was considering moving in with his mom, as his life was falling apart all around him. But that's another story for another blog entry.

One of my man friends lives in Ontario with both his parents. Another resides in Terrace, BC, also with both his parents. One occupies a piece of Mississippi real estate with his "ma". And one lives in jolly olde England with his "mum".

I used to have a friend who lived with an elderly woman who was not his mother for whom he was a caregiver. Interestingly, he was very hateful towards his mother. Interestingly he is no longer my friend. And, interestingly, he was the one who accused me of being a man-hater.

If a man does not love his mother, I think it's a pretty good indicator of his attitude towards women in general.

My dad never spoke to me about his mother. He left her and his brothers behind in Serbia when he emigrated to Canada in the 1950s. I don't even know her name and don't expect my dad will tell me as he won't return my calls.

And my dad was not nice to my mom. And no wonder my mom left him. And my dad now has nothing to do with either of his own children, those being my sister and me, by his choice.

Given that kind of relationship with my father, I might be a candidate for hating men. But I am not so blind as to say "All men suck" just because my dad is a _______ (insert negative description of your choice to refer to men who cut off relationship with their own children).

And hey, my dad raised me for 18 years, for better or for worse. I am grateful for that much from him.

At the age of 13, a man who was 21 entered my life and did some bad things to me. If you knew the story, you might think I'd go on to hate men. But, no, I did not.

From age 18 till 36, I was involved with a man who treated me like a subhuman. I could have hated men because of that, but instead I chose to stay with him for 18 years, hoping for positive change. Eventually, sanity started to grow in my heart and I found a way out.

I was fully prepared to live without any man, not because I hated men, but because I didn't need one.

I don't need one.

But it's nice that I do have one with whom I get along most of the time.

No human being is perfect. Heck, look at me - my man has got to live with ME and I'm far from perfect.

Furthermore, I continue to befriend the odd man from time to time, when they happen to be friend-worthy, just as I would with friend-worthy women.

And anyone who says "a woman can't be 'just friends' with a man" reeks of the ex and is someone with whom I don't want to chill.

I love the Biblical account in John chapter 8, when Jesus says of the woman accused of adultery, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her," and everyone leaves.

No man - no person - is without sin.

And no man is an island. No woman is, either. We need EACH OTHER, but that's not to be confused with needing each other in order to be happy. I can't do everything by myself - can you? Heck, how do you think I had seven kids?

I leave you with a song by the Rossington-Collins Band, "One Good Man".

"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all." ~Isaiah 53:6

Pickup Idea For Single Men

Today while I was minding my own bidness in the grocery store (yes, I said bidness), I was approached by a gentleman probably a few years older than me.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Huh?" I look up, shocked that someone who didn't know my name was talking to me.

He directed me back an aisle with his hand pointing at the cake mixes. As I followed, he said, "Do you know anything about cake mixes?"

"Well, a little..." What, because I'm female, I'm supposed to know about cake mixes?

"I'm trying to find a chocolate cake mix," he explains, "but they're all devil's food cake."

I'm starting to smile and holding back a laugh at the thought that comes to mind, complete with Louisiana bayou accent of Mama in the movie Waterboy, but instead I dryly say, "Well, actually, I think chocolate cake IS the devil's food," and I emphasize it with silence at the end.

He thinks about it for a few seconds and then laughs, saying, "Yes, I guess you are right."

I add, to be polite, "If you look at the generic brands, you might find some that just call it 'chocolate cake', but the ones that say 'devil's food cake' really are the same as chocolate cake."

He thanked me and I went on my way.

That whole episode would be a good pickup line for a guy. It would also serve the dual purpose of finding out a little about a woman's kitchen prowess, giving a little foreshadowing of how much cooking he'd end up having to do if he roped in this particular girl. Isn't that what the whole dating game is about? Finding someone to do yer cookin' and yer laundry fer ya?

If I was single and interested, I'd have said something like, "Well, therein lies your problem. You need a good woman who knows how to bake a proper cake. Here's my number. Call if you need any help. Farewell."

Then the ball is in his court, no questions asked, nothing lost on anyone's part.

There's your woman-hunting suggestion. Try it and let me know how it goes.