Humans Are Kinda Weird pt. 3 – Question Everything…Especially Font Choices.

How many of you have had this experience? You’ve just typed something up in either some word processor or PhotoShop, you’re comfortable with your copy, but now you want to find the right font. You know the one – the font that says, “I’m a professional graphic designer, but I’m totally down-to-Earth, and I have a laid-back sense of humor.” That font. No. It’s not Helvetica. And HELL no. It’s not Curlz, Papyrus, Comic Sans, or Ransom. The only problem is, you have a typeface library of 15,000. You select Arial and start taping the down arrow, allowing your eyes to glaze over just enough to catch the aura of the font when it flashes by. Somewhere around Chaucer New, you start to question the spleling spelling of your own name. By the time you approach the end of your library, Zapf makes as much sense as any other. (It’s kind of like Wingdings – all pictograms)

The realization here is that sometimes the more I look at something, regardless of how familiar I am with that thing/situation/problem/whatever, the less able I am (sometimes) to figure that thing out. If I leave it unchecked long enough, it’s going to devolve into the font search. I’m going to question the splleeelllig of mine own name. Dangit.

…Anyway…

If you’ve read the two preceding posts in this series, you may be asking, “Why bother thinking about this stuff? I mean everything we do is weird if you break it down into the most basic components,” and you’ve got a real point there. The real purpose for this exercise has been to demonstrate that very point. Every day we do things (such as drink coffee and drive in cars) that are rather bizarre if you think about them. Does their bizarre nature make them bad? I’ve already said that it doesn’t. Does it mean we can incorporate any behavior into our daily routine based on the premise that a little more weirdness won’t hurt? Not necessarily.

What I am saying is this: there are a great many things out there that seem outlandish at first, but can really be quite beneficial if only given a chance. The same goes for people. You may have picked up on the strain in my stream-of-consciousness writing that I’m not given to what some call “normalcy.” It has been my experience though that an ability to break a process (or problem) down to its most basic components and analyze it from different perspectives leads to improvement to the system (or a solution to the problem) in ways that traditional problem solvers might not get to right away. Think of it as solving a jigsaw puzzle by looking at it while standing on your head. When you’re upside-down, things just look a bit different.

What if our approach to finding the right font took a similar twist? When I worked as a graphic designer for a local sign shop, I would simply use the Wheel of Fortune letters (RSTLNE,rstlne) to find my font, then paste in the pre-written copy once I’d found it. I found it easiest to solve the problem by removing the conventions. In other words, the things that made sense to me (eg English phonetics and spelling) distracted me from finding the solution I needed. I needed to look at the pieces of the problem (In this example, the letter shapes themselves) without the complete problem getting in the way. What if we approached our problems like this? Start with the most basic components. Does this solution work? What if we add in a layer of complexity? It still works? Let’s add some more. By the time you arrive at the big picture again, your solution may be something elegant and simple, or something utterly bizarre. Or both?

I would love to hear stories from you about unconventional solutions you’ve found to situations or problems by looking at the pieces of the problem instead of the whole thing. Feel free to contact me or simply comment below.

Humans Are Kinda Weird pt. 2 – Cars

For the second installment of this series exploring the oddities of our everyday life, I submit: cars. Seriously. What the heck?

There was a time … actually it was MOST of time … when human transportation required the traveller to walk. (Ground breaking revelation, right?) If that was not fast enough, we ran. For milenia, that was it. Walk or run. We’re not exactly the fastest species on the planet despite what drunk 21 year-old me thought (Note to self: a post containing stupid things I’ve done thanks to alcohol might be entertaining). In order to overcome our limited bipedal speed, we decided to domesticate animals that were either faster than we could run or had greater stamina and could therefore better maintain a respectable pace. Horses then, for centuries were the locomotive force of choice for speed. Let’s make it more comfortable … for the human. Let’s hitch some kind of compartment to the poor beast and compel it to pull us along to our destination.

Then came the engine. Steam was the first attempt. The way a steam engine works (roughly) is a furnace is stoked to produce enough heat for a boiler full of water to produce a good amount of steam. This steam is then forced into a chamber where it pushes a piston. This piston is connected to a shaft which then turns a wheel, creating circular motion. Since Ugga and Grok were kind enough to innovate the wheel for us, we can use this circular motion to get us moving in a straight line. YAY! (BTW, if you’re just itching for more details about the mechanics of steam engines, check this out.) The steam engine was put to great use in the 18th Century in machines such as locomotives. They were not however, great for smaller-scale applications. I kinda don’t think Fiat would be putting out such dainty cars if they had to include a water tank, furnace, and boiler. Maybe I’m wrong…

So what’s the solution to THIS dilema? Well, we could harness the power of explosives. Sure! Why not? Let’s do that. (Here is a link to a 4-stroke internal combustion engine explanation.) Instead of steam, a boiler, and a raging furnace, we now use an exploding petroleum/air mix to drive the piston down. Here’s where we’re at:

In an attempt to get from point A to point B, we climb inside a rather large metal box. To be safe, we tie ourselves IN to said box. With the turn of a key, we initiate a series of explosions mere feet from where we are strapped in. These explosions are fueled by a line that runs under us from a reservoir of highly explosive liquid sloshing around behind us. With a wheel connected to a hydraulic system (an excellent innovation), we are able to turn the front wheels of our metal box and redirect the course of our progress. With our feet, we control the rate at which the explosions happen and therefore just how fast our box careens forward. Oh, and there’s another function we control with our feet: the pressing of pads (in the case of disc brakes) against metal disks attached to our wheels. The idea here is that if we can stop these metal disks from spinning, our wheels will also stop, allowing us to … well … you know … stop. Now that we’ve managed to get out metal box of explosions to get moving faster than ANY human can run, we decide the little guy needs some socialization. It wants to run with other metal boxes. Turning our seemingly magic wheel at strategic times, we guide our fiery chariot out onto the main road, where we can see many other metal boxes hurtling by.

The GOVERNMENT had to make a rather extensive series of rules regarding the operation of these contraptions, including how fast we’re allowed to move on certain roads, when it’s ok to turn at a given intersection, and even coding lanes of traffic with white or yellow solid, broken, or striped lines. Heck, sometimes, they even have DOUBLE lines, which means, “Oh buster, you’d better not even THINK of changing lanes HERE!!!”

It all sounds pretty bizarre, right? I’m not done yet. With all the tension that could (and to some extent should) accompany the operation of such a capable means of destroying not only your life, but also those of everyone around you, so many people have become flippant about driving. We talk on the phone, eat, some people do their makeup, adjust the radio, text, or even (and I’ve seen this) read a book – holding it at the top of the steering wheel, so periphery vision can inform the driver about the need to stop. I’m not going to get on a soap box, but I will make one simple request: please take your responsibility seriously. Don’t be a distracted driver. Don’t ever drive if you’ve been drinking. And the next time you get into your car to run up to the corner market, think about how weird that action really is.

More About Feminism

This: http://ift.tt/1C6DGqv

Emma Watson recently spoke at the UN Women conference. She put into words the sentiments I fumbled over in a previous post that opened lines of communication that have been closed for too long. Ms. Watson spoke through her nerves to deliver a message imploring men and women to genuinely partner together to work toward real gender equality without “man-hating.”

Please take a moment to watch the video, and then ACT however you can to promote this cause.

Humans are Kinda Weird pt. 1 – Coffee

I’m a coffee addict. I will occasionally give it up, but without any intention of kicking the habit. When coffee and I spend some time apart, it is for the sole intent of heightening the experience when we get back together. I worked in coffee shops – both Starbucks and independent – for years. I’ve learned a ton about coffee. Heck – I was in charge of training new employees about the ins and outs of the wonderful world of coffee. In short, I have loved the stuff for a long time, I have no intention of giving it up forever, and yes. I drink it black, no sugar.

Have you ever thought about coffee in an objective way though? It’s pretty freaking weird. Consider:

An Ethiopian goat herder is out and about one afternoon when he notices some of his goats acting … strangely. The goatherd (named Kaldi, according to legend) watches these hyper goats more carefully to try and ascertain the cause for this behavior. Soon, Kaldi discovers the only thing the jittery goats are doing differently from the others is eating the berries from this one large bush. “Well that’s odd,” thought Kaldi aloud. “I should probably tell someone about this. It seems important.”

Kaldi collected some of the berries and went to the local monastery, where he explained his suspicions to the monk. “…and they just kind of ran around like they had all the strength and energy in the world,” he exlpained.

“I see,” said the monk, clearly intrigued. “Leave these berries with me, and I will see what may be learned.”

Kaldi left the berries with the monk, glad that his story had been listened to so openmindedly. Meanwhile, the monk held one berry up to the light in his chamber. “What are you?” he posited. Rolling the berry around his palm, he considered the possibilities. Was this small red berry a gift from Above? Was it a magical fruit that would give superhuman powers to those who consumed it? Was it a test for human kind? If so, what was the lesson? He was a monk, so he decided to do one of the things monks do best: pray about it. This time though, he would pray with the aid of this gift.

The berry tasted pretty bad though, so eating it straight was less of an option for the monk than for the goats. A drink should be made from the berry. The monk steeped the berry in some hot water, making it a bit less intense. That night, he prayed. And prayed. And prayed. It seemed like he would never need to sleep again, so he continued to pray. In the morning, the monk was sure: this berry was good stuff. It was just too bad it tasted so … gross. The method of ingesting this heavenly gift would need refinement.

In the years that followed, many people experimented with cultivation, harvesting, and preparation methods. What they came up with was rather strange if you think about it. The berries are picked from the plant, the fruit allowed to rot off the seed and then cleaned away – sometimes via power washing, sometimes by mechanical methods – to leave only the green “bean” which is then roasted in an oven to varying levels of darkness (Starbucks’ French Roast is roasted to nearly the combustion point of the bean, which gives it a smoky flavor that so many people enjoy). The nearly burnt seed is then ground to (again) varying levels. The finer the grind, the longer it takes for the next step, and therefore the more extraction takes place. We java junkies then use one method or another to either force water or allow water to flow through the stuff that looks like dirt. The result is sludge (the ground up, burnt seed from a rotted berry mixed with hot water) and some really dark water. We throw the sludge away (or mix it into the compost) and cup the concoction in our hands, feeling a sense of hope and safety, and drink it. Some people add milk (which is weird in and of itself) and sugar (again … weird stuff) before enforcing our addictions.

Coffee isn’t the only weird thing we do though, as I’m sure you are well aware. Pretty much everything we do is really strange if you take the time and think about what it is we’re actually doing. Shoes for instance…. That doesn’t mean these things are necessarily bad. I believe I’ve made it explicitly clear that coffee is an integral and essential part of my very existence. I just thought this would be a way to start a miniseries of posts I’ve been mulling over during my hiatus (apparently, if I post something particularly serious or controversial, I get a bit worked up, which leads to writer’s block … who knew?).

What is the value in examining our every day practices? For one thing, I’ve found it helpful in making sure our perspective on things stays pliable. So here we go.

…

and by the way, I’ve had two cups of coffee since I started writing this post. I’m gonna go build something.

Chivalry is not Chauvinism

Preface: I am a feminist. I’m also a guy. This is possible because of my understanding of genuine feminism. Women are incredible humans: they can (generally) multitask much better than men, they are capable of incubating and sustaining new humans, and the way women process information gives them an understanding of any given situation that often flabbergasts us men … just to name a few specifics. I got my butt kicked by a girl when I took karate as a 14 year old, so I’ve never labored under the delusion of “the weaker sex.” To put it in a nut shell, women kick ass, and they/you deserve fair and equal treatment to men in the workplace life. Period.

That being said (and every word meant), I have a request: please don’t geld well-meaning men in the name of equality. What am I talking about? I grew up having certain conventions of decency and manners taught to me. Some people call it chivalry, but that’s reminiscent of the Middle Ages, when women were certainly not (for the most part) treated as equals, so for the sake of this post, we’ll refer to this code of etiquette by other terms. The practices that became a part of me are not so prosaic as draping my coat over a mud puddle (go around that junk! That’s what I’m going to do!) or even standing when a woman stands to leave the table/room or when she enters the room. There are certain things that were considered polite at one point in time, but would just get a little creepy now. That, and if you suddenly jumped up when some women came in the room, you may get a face full of pepper spray. Just saying.

The code instilled in me was more practical.

1. Offer your seat if there aren’t enough for everyone. This is just common decency, and not even exclusive to women. If there’s an elderly man or woman, a pregnant woman, or someone on crutches etc, it just shows a deference, awareness, and desire to aid those who are genuinely not as able-bodied as you. When I offer my chair to an able-bodied woman though, I’m just being nice. Can we accept it for what it is?

2. Hold doors. If I’m going through the door anyway, I was planning on opening it. I usually do when entering or exiting a building … I’m not the Kool Aid guy. If I have to open the door anyway, holding it open for someone else – be they male or female – I’m letting you know I saw you and that I’m not so big a jerk as to slam it in your face. If I hold a door I wasn’t going to go through (think car door), I am not insinuating that you are somehow too weak and frail a creature to open the door yourself. I’m just trying to make your life a little easier. It’s not an insult, ok?

3. When walking up some stairs behind a female human, pay careful attention to your own feet. Even if she doesn’t recognize the fact you were deliberately not ogling her buttox, it at least provides one moment in the day where she’s not being treated like an object. This point can be expanded like this: don’t be a pervert.

There are more, but hopefully you get the general feel. Basically, try to be nice to people – young women, older women, and men too. Most of the time, these simple kindnesses are greeted with a smile and a thank you. Not always however, and that is why I’m writing right now.

When I was in school, I was leaving Harris Hall after a class, and held the door for a female student heading into the building. (Quickly: I don’t need to be thanked. I’m ok being totally ignored honestly, in most of these situations.) She looked at me like I’d just called her some horrifically sexist name and said, “Thanks, asshole. Like I can’t get the door myself?” Gobsmacked. I hadn’t come up against this level of opposition before – certainly not based on which variety of genitalia I was born with.

I am completely aware that many of my sex have given us a terrible reputation as letches, scumbags, and swaggering idiots who think of little other than “gettin some.” I want to slap every guy who enforces this perception. THAT is not manliness. Thinking men are better than women is NOT manliness. Getting paid more for the exact.same.job is not fair. Hollering demeaning and sexist things at a woman from your car as you drive by does NOT make you a bro. It makes you an idiot, and demonstrates that you possess an understanding of cooperation between the sexes somewhere between that of a dust bunny and a used Q-tip. Women don’t need men to open doors and offer seats, but it can be used to demonstrate respect for them as fellow humans and sojourners through this weird-as-all-get-out life.

So my request to the female readers of this post is this: there are some of us men out there that genuinely don’t have an ulterior motive for holding open doors. We are not communicating perceived superiority; please don’t punish us for the morons out there. Thanks