Hi everyone. Just wanted to mention I’ve just recently opened up an Etsy shop to have some of my typographic art and graphic design work available to people.
For the moment, there’s a set of threetypographicexperiments (each 11”X17”) using the typeface Univers, a phrenological chart (13”X19”, seen above) that asks you to think reallllly hard about SCIENCE and a set of scientific Venn diagram posters (11”X16”) that scientifically prove that the word COMPLETE is made up of three component parts (MPL, COM, and ETE, as it turns out. What.). Anyway, hope you enjoy.
I’m just starting things up over there, so do expect more pieces to be made available soon. Please do let me know if you have any special requests, or would like smaller or larger sizes of anything available. I’m absolutely eager to please.
Hi, guys. I have been waiting to reblog this, to give Jason the little “nod”, but since everyone else is hopping on the reblog wagon, I will too.
AS YOU KNOW, Jason is a fantastic designer and makes some beautiful art and, and oh, well, I guess you read what he and everyone else said. What I’m saying is, go check out his fantastic Etsy shop and if you have request (sorry Jason, but I’m doing this) look at his design set on his flickr and, ahem, make some offers.
Since my bike was stolen from campus about a month ago, I have been searching Craig’s List looking for a new one. This is not an easy feat especially here in the San Francisco Bay Area. There are some things I have learned from bike sellers that they have yet to learn themselves. If you’re looking to buy a bike, maybe you should take some notes.
“Mixte” is their way of saying “it’s a woman’s frame and this is my way of telling you that I obviously know more about bikes than you.”
“Matte finish” means “I spray painted this bike.”
“50 cm, fits anyone 5’7”-6’” is a smug way of telling you that “I am over charging you for this bike because you obviously don’t know about bikes or their sizes….or I don’t.”
Cover of “I Don’t Really Love You Anymore” by The Magnetic Fields.
I would high five the shit out of this guy.
I almost like this more than the original. I mean, sometimes the Casio keyboard really does it, and sometimes you need the real deal. Sometimes you just like that there is a polar bear stuffed animal in the back ground.
Eno 1nce said nly 35 ppl ever followd @glamazon_barbie bt ever 1 of em startd a band. 2 tru bt wh cn i sa?…ok now im bored…haha…what?
Exactly.
I’m sure we’ve all seen that email forward (are those still around?) about how “wehn you mix up the iennr lteetrs of a wrod you can sitll raed it” and how it’s so amazing. It’s meant as a “test” of superior intelligence when really, it only shows how we have adapted to our all too common typos (but nice try guys, really.) Well, if we pretend that’s true, then let us all bow our heads in shame, for @glamazon_barbie has provided us with an example of what the inferior intelligence test would be. Don’t worry, we all passed.
I think it’s best to embrace your embarrassments rather than hide them. It happens in movies all the time, some lousy teenager (played by a 34 year old) tries to hid her 6th toe and then oh no! It’s a pool party! You might as well get all of your awful stories out in the open and then when they are revealed at least you can say “dude, I told you that last week.”
I leave notes. Yes, I leave notes saying where I’m going or when I’ll be home. No, not passive aggressive notes, just “went to the store.” I usually get home before anyone comes home to see these notes but for some reason it hasn’t stopped me. I am an avid text messenger and I understand how much more practical that sounds, but if it doesn’t make a difference of when the person sees the note, why not leave one? Let’s not all rush to the future at once, guys!
Notes can be fun for a number of reasons.
You get to use markers! Or pens! Or whatever you’d like. What I’m saying is, you get to w-r-i-t-e by hand! How fun is that? Just me? You can write in cursive or all capitals or just normal messy handwriting, it’s fun, how often do you get to do that?
You also get to avoid the little red line telling you that you don’t know how to spell “restuaraunt”. Gain a little false self confidence, that never hurt anyone (but yourself, yay!)
You can sign your name even though you are the only other person (besides like 20 cats) that live at your house. It’s obviously from you, but hey, you can even throw in your last name, too.
When your brain fails you and you write “of of”, your mom will circle it, mock you, mock you some more, really laugh in your face, and then draw a smiley face.
Your mom wont bring you kleenex when you’re crying and eating ice cream out of the carton.
You can post your horrible handwritten typo on the internet and really shame your family.
Your closest friends will abandon you and stop answering your phone calls.
Everyone will point and laugh when you walk down the street.
First off I’d like to say, good job, man. Good job at having (probably) the most annoying job a person could possess. You’re even worse than telemarketers, because I can’t hang up on you. I have to look in your sad, little eyes and tell you, although I can afford what you are selling, I do not want it because I’d rather order if off of Amazon.com. You know, where I can avoid awkward social interaction like this one we are having right now.
Since you seem to enjoy this existence, I have a few bits of advice for you. Don’t worry you can choose to ignore them if you’d like, since you ignored my first three attempts at turning down your “great deal”.
Do not start off with “hello little girl are your parents home?” This is not a compliment. I am not 15, I am not 45, I look my age, you look like a creep.
Do not ask me how YOU are doing. You’re supposed to ask me how I am doing, then you can ignore my answer and carry on with your spiel.
Do not interrupt whatever it was that I was saying by asking “where’d you get those diamonds?” only to confuse and annoy me, and then follow it up with “the ones in your eyes.” I hate you.
Do not repeatedly say what a nice day it is outside. I am standing outside, and I can see that. Don’t then say that I should “get outside” today. You just interrupted my day, you do not know what I was planning on doing.
Do not ask me what kind of magazines I’m interested in, then look at me and say, “You’re not interested in fitness magazines, are you?” Fuck you.
Do not chase my cat into the street after you mention that I have “a lot” of cats. I really hate you.
Do not ask me to repeat my number, as if I gave you a fake one. Because I did give you a fake one and my memory isn’t that good.
Last, and most importantly, do not come to my door.
GPOYW. This was actually a light test (like these!), and then my dad called and then Jake looked adorable and then it was actually a somewhat neat picture and I don’t post pictures of myself online (anymore) but I figured hey why not if Jake can be all over the internet I guess I can too and this is where I’d be like all lousy girls and say “even though my hair is a total mess lol” and “omg pajamas or WHAT! I mean hello!” and then I’ll complain later about how I can’t believe I posted that(!) but then I’ll leave it up because I am really good at being a crappy girl. I won’t do that though, because as great as all of that sounds, being normal is way better I think, unless you’re like an albino llama and you’re in the zoo as the main attraction because then you get special treatment and lots of pictures taken and I bet you’d even make it onto the cover of Zoobooks or something, because if that were the case not being normal would totally rule! Anyway, what I was saying was I’ve been trying to make toast all week but my toaster oven has been set to bake and honestly the greatest trick the toaster over ever pulled was convincing the world that warm bread was toast. Good day.
That’s exactly what my mom suggested. Highly unlikely, though, because although it’s pretty dark out, the thing that first caught my attention was its white, furry, undulating tail. Like a squirrel’s but bigger. Opossums have hairless tails. I think?
Based on the description “albino skunk that is not afraid of humans” and what I’ve smelled today, what you just encountered would be a wild Jake. Although commonly confused for an opossum, the wild Jake is a docile animal, eats crackers and string cheese, and prefers if you leave his feet alone (even if he puts them on your face.) Your best bet is to call his name and try your hardest to get his attention, because the result will, in fact, be the complete opposite and the wild Jake will leave the area immediately. If you would like this animal to befriend you, or even let you pet him, your best bet is to read a book or a newspaper, and he will immediately fall asleep on top of it. Best of luck.
One Sunday morning … I waded into the Mediterranean and looked into it through Fernez goggles…. I was astonished by what I saw in the shallow shingle at Le Mourillon, rocks covered with green, brown and silver forests of algae and fishes unknown to me, swimming in crystalline water. Sometimes we are lucky enough to know that our lives have been changed, to discard the old, embrace the new, and run headlong down an immutable course. It happened to me at Mourillon on that summer’s day, when my eyes were opened to the sea.
He is in the place where all cats go, a small subdivision of Animal Heaven called Whiskerville, where the rivers flow with milk and the trees are filled with tuna. Without this cat in your lives you will notice yourselves ultimately, buying a lot less cat food. It is our curse as human beings to outlive our beloved feline friends, we must say goodbye, feel sad and finally get another kitty. A different kitty to love and pet and clean up after, it is the cycle of kitties. A moment of silence please.
I never thought that it would show that there’s a leak in every boat. And this one is sinking, I’m sure it’s sinking now. Somewhere there’s a lighthouse, but the light has gone out.
The thing about Google Maps is, little Tuck is on the porch of his home where he’s supposed to be right now. That’s the thing about Google Maps. It gives false hopes.
Remember when you tried to paint your cat to look like a panda with an aerosol can of black hair paint? But then the paint came out of the can at 50 mph and sent your cat scurrying across the kitchen floor as if he were that Cottonelle toilet paper puppy, but instead of being cute it was really sad and pathetic and looked like your cat had just rolled in motor oil? And then you tried to wash it off with Clorox wipes, but all it did was make his now grey fur stand on end like some crazy opossum. Remember that? Now you have this pouty, depressed cat sitting in the corner trying to lick his toxic shoulder and all you wanted was a panda. Good job, jerk.
I got Tucker and his sister and two brothers when they were a day old on May 1st 2004. I bottle fed all four of them and completely raised them by hand. These four cats are the closest to children I’ll ever have. (That doesn’t sound pathetic if you know them.)
I was paranoid last night about Tucker being outside because he’s (nearly) a black cat and it was (nearly) Halloween. I brought him inside at (nearly) 2 am even though he hates being inside. He begged all night to be let outside, his meow always sounds like he’s saying “now? Now? Maybe now? How about now?”
We finally let him out this morning after a lot of begging.
At around 8 am, a lady came to our door to tell us that our little kitty had been hit by a car.
I’ve spent the majority of today crying and holding my little Tucker until we handed him over to get cremated.
