Die Neue Haas Grotesk

Helvetica. Possibly my favorite movie. Not, no, that one would see, it, like, 10 or 2 times, but still. At once a love song and a cutting swipe at a font praised for its "modernity and human-ness" and its "banality and authoritarianism," the documentary is one of the most well done I've seen. I had not read any reviews (just assumed it would be cool) .I'm not going to attempt to be a critic here, but if you love design, philosophy, visual creativity, communication, and humanity -- well. Here you go.

Just a few random notes. The predominantly Swiss and German and male designers interviewed (sigh) all had a single or sometimes double strong vertical line(s) between their eyes like, well, exclamation points, perhaps, from squinting, (that's how you know they're authentic). Thankfully, the vitriol AGAINST Helvetica was proffered with a sense of humor in most cases. The cohesiveness of the movie stemmed from the very font itself: egoless, clean, communicative, and neutral above all else. What came before it, what came after and why -- that's what it's all about. That, and the ubiquity of the font itself, to this day. Bottom line: I laughed ... I cried. 5 stars.

A new crisis. Cat ripped off the Backspace key (oh, look, Helvetica! even though it's not a default font option on my pc or yours) and I'm torn: crazy-glue back on (and all the trouble that can cause*), tap it back on (which makes for MORE mistakes) or leave it off (can I get electrocuted?) and probably get a blood blister on my middle finger after 3 posts) OR just NEVER CHANGE MY MIND AGAIN.

* I once was doing some stupid project probably involving repairing earrings, alone in my large apartment in the East Village, sitting cross-legged on the floor working over a low glass-top and wrought-iron coffee table, not noticing the Crazy Glue pooling just under my forearm and well, suffice it to say, I learned patience that day as my roomate didn't return for hours and even then didn't know how to separate me from the glass. We almost called the Fire Department. And probably should have, as my small scar, nearly two decades later, lingers on.

Sit still, damnit!

And here's O. Henry and proof positive that he simply cannot be photographed properly while he's awake. Maybe I need a special camera or something.

So I had to tell Obama today that he HAS my vote and please stop emailing me. And stop his brother and his wife, too. It's a bit much.

Interesting article in this week's New Yorker about architectural preservation in NYC. Or lack there of. Alack... alas.

No words

Took my wonderful neighbor Ann to dinner at Market Table, new on Carmine Street for a nice dinner and a sort of tribute to Petey, who died on Friday. I know... shocking, sad. I'm not sure how he died but it was nearly exactly the same way MeMe died (suddent spasm, dead in an instant). And yes, if you didn't know, I'm talking about my cat(s). Petey was a good guy, the quintessential tabby cat and just a darn fine specimen: loving, cool, mellow, happy. I'd post a picture (again) but I'm too sad to look for one. And pissed off that I had to pay $85 for have him cremated (wtf?). Living in the Village is insanely expensive.

Anyway, dinner with 82-year old Ann (who takes/took care of Petey, and MeMe and now O. Henry when I'm out of town) was lovely. I can recommend the swordfish highly (ate every last scrap) with fresh off the cob corn and avocado/frisee salad) and probably the crabcake, which Ann devoured and then took home the bun with the lettuce and tomato tucked inside). Nice place (we got the last unreserved table) but too much space wasted with a weird selection of things I can't imagine anyone would want to spontaneously buy.

Other weekend highlights included a successful trip to Housing Works and a bad epidemiological thriller that made me want to do some detective work to find out who/what killed Pete. First stop: the exterminator who looks like Alec Baldwin (O. Hen had some fleas) and then possibly Purina.....

Update: there were no fleas. O. Henry just had a mild ear infection.

CommuniCATing

O. Henry is definitely stating that the catfood box is empty -- so empty he can crawl in it and get stuck.
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Daylight Détente

This situation has vastly improved between new cat and old. No more male posturing, a little less Jets v. Sharks kind of choreographed circling. Rather, after a good night's sleep (on everyone's part but mine, as O. Henry has a thing for my hair and spent the night under it on my neck or nestled on the very top of my head) it seems we have a détente. They're indulging in (separate) afternoon naps, all's right with the world; I'm going to go get my nails done.

The Ineffable Henry

Let me introduce you to O. Henry Skittles Thompson, the newest addition to my household. He's a new friend for Petey (who, at posting, is somewhat disturbed). Henry is from the Bronx by way of the Union Square Petco and the great cat rescuers of Kitty Kind.

So far, Henry won't sit still for pictures. He is six weeks old and already a Yankees fan (he's watching the Mets v. Yankees game as we speak.)

I'm a little nervous because of Petey's initial reaction (trepidation, a little bit of hissing, which he's never done). Pics here of him, as well as MeMe (rest in peace) and Ann from next door who is a great friend to cats and a tireless cat rescuer and babysitter.

The Yankees Win!