I’m a little late to the party here, but I’ve recently been listening to the podcast titled I’ve Had It hosted by Jennifer Welch and Angie “Pumps” Sullivan. Although they get into a lot of political shit, there is nothing too sacred that can’t be dressed down on their program. Recently they’ve slammed oblivious cell phone talkers/walkers, misbehaving children in public places, and manly-labeled products for insecure men who need validation of their masculinity.
I suspect the reason I love listening to these two Oklahoma-raised women is the title of their podcast could easily be the title of this blog because when I sit down to write something here, it’s pretty much me coming to that moment of, “I’ve had it with this or that.”
In the spirit of Welch and Sullivan, I thought I’d do a little of my own I’ve Had It in this post—hopefully as well as any 65-year-old White dude can pull it off.
Living in a small Wyoming town, it’s safe to say that most folk here are conservative—very conservative in my opinion… as in outright stupid conservative just for the sake of being a conservative. Without any doubt, White MAGA has a solid foothold in Powell, Wyoming and throughout Park County which includes the tourist-based town of Cody.
It’s common to hear various leaders and high-profile members of Powell talk about how friendly it is here. I suspect there’s some truth in it, but after living here for over 30 years, there’s a little more to this friendliness than just pure unadulterated congeniality.
My suspicion is rooted in one continuous experience I have in this town on any given day—it’s the dreaded four-way stop sign intersections.
As a regular cyclist around town (and occasional driver) there are numerous four-way stop intersections throughout this town. Given how “nice” people are in Powell, Wyoming, if you’re on a bicycle, they typically wave you on even if they arrive at the intersection well before you. And that’s the part that gets me.
As a bicycle commuter, I am observant of the rules of the road which apply to both cars and bicycles, including the proper protocol for a four-way stop sign. There’s nothing worse than being on my bike approaching a four-way that has a vehicle already stopped. Instead of proceeding through the intersection as I’m clearly slowing down in my approach, these Powell do-gooders will stay there and watch me come to a stop. And after I have stopped, they do that Powell thing and wave me on even though they were there way before I arrived. I call it “The Powell Standoff.”
So, consider it safe to say, I’ve had it with this Dudley-Do-Right shit. No doubt and in their defense, they would likely tell anyone that they are simply being kind to the cyclists, but I’m not buying it. If they had simply proceeded through the stop sign after coming to a complete halt, thus establishing the right-of-way, I would have only had to slow down as they proceeded through the intersection.
And here’s my theory… I don’t think they wave me through because they are being nice. I think their over-the-top Anita Bryantness is simply a ruse for being nosey so they can see who the crazy libtard is on a bicycle when it’s barely above freezing outside—because liberals are the only ones who really ride bikes around here beyond the summer months.
I can feel their indifferent stares as I proceed slowly through the intersection, only because I had to come to a complete stop waiting on them. If they had just followed the rule, both parties would have been through the intersection sans a “Powell Stand-Off.” If you’re a pedestrian, it’s almost worse because they have that much longer to stare at you as you cross any given intersection where you might be—it doesn’t even have to be a four way or a pedestrian crossing! Their facial expressions say they are doing you a big favor, but inside they just want to mow you down—reduced to a giant grease spot on the asphalt.
Lastly, I know there are other bike riders in this town that think it’s their right to blow through stop signs because they are on a bicycle. I suppose this could be another occasion for Powell drivers to hesitate at a four-way. However, these lawless cyclists give other riders like me a bad look. So my advice to drivers who encounter bike-riders who ignore the rules of the road is to simply run them over when they go flying through stop signs.
While doom scrolling the other day on Instagram, a guy popped up in my feed who I’d never seen before and proceeded to insist to the Instagram community that single spacing after periods was “fucking bullshit.”
This grabbed my attention immediately because what he was saying flew in the face of the most basic rule in typography I learned way back in the summer of 1977. It would also become one of the first things my graphic design students would learn in the first semester of their first year—it was that basic.
Like anyone, I can get pretty worked up when it comes to politics and other things that divide our country. But, there are a few other topics that will rub me the wrong way even if they lack the attention of the general public—bad typographic advice is certainly one of them.
Here’s the transcript of his post on two-spaces vs. one-space…
“When you type a sentence and you put a period… I’m being told that you can only have one space afterwards. And that’s fucking bullshit, and I’m tired of it because you put two spaces after a sentence. White space on a paper attracts your eye. Look at any Apple ad that you have and all you see is one image, right? It is two spaces. It’s designed for the eyeball and I’m tired (again he’s tired) of people saying only one space. So, if you see me in the courthouse, don’t fucking come and talk to me about one space—cause it’s two.”
And there you have it—no exceptions—just pure fact according to mild-mannered criminal defense lawyer Jeremy Rosenthal who apparently moonlights as a graphic designer or typographer given his extensive knowledge on spacing after sentences. In this age of Trump where “my loud opinion is as good as your facts,” his rant is spot on. Imagine, a lawyer spouting off about typography as if he’s some kind of expert or authority on the subject. Better yet is the pure, unadulterated stupidity as he doesn’t even cite any sources to back-up his moronic claim, just a blind decree, “…don’t fucking come and talk to me about one space… cause it’s two!”
Imagine how bankrupt Rosenthal’s working vocabulary must be when it comes to typography—using secretarial language like “linespacing” for leading, “three-dots” for em leaders, and likely doesn’t know the difference between a hyphen and an en-dash.
Is this what happens when one becomes a lawyer… you suddenly think you’re an expert on anything beyond the practice of law? For God’s sake, Jeremy, you’re out of order!
Someone should send his tirade on spacing after sentences to whatever law school he attended. My bet is they won’t be surprised. I can almost hear one of his profs saying something like, “Yeah, that’s old Jeremy alright… shoot first and ask questions later. That’s a true testament that he wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box.”
There are certain things we do (whether deliberate or unaware) that illustrate to the world that we are undoubtedly stupid—wearing a red MAGA hat surely comes to mind. But there are other discernible means of accomplishing this too—Rosenthal’s rant here is definitely one of them.
Further, is this how he operates in the courtroom too… just goes off spouting diarrhea all over the courtroom without presenting any evidence backing his claims?” All I could think about in watching his post was, “What a fucking idiot. I pity the parties he represents in court.”
Basic Typography 101 I never thought I’d find myself fighting this fight again. After 30-plus years of covering this basic typographic practice in the classroom every year, here I am one last time trying to silence another clueless moron who believes they are an authority on the subject. Fuck me.
So, one last time—as a professional and educator in graphic design, prepress, and print—I’m going to clear the air on this subject. I hope to never speak of this again.
I learned in a high school typing class my sophomore year (1975-1976) that two spaces followed all sentences. I never asked why that was and simply followed the rule. This class met everyday for one hour and we only worked on manual typewriters. During my junior and senior years, I was enrolled in a vocational graphic arts program, and as a result became curious about design, publishing, and typography. During the summer between those two years, I found my first job in the field working as a typesetter for a weekly newspaper (The Signal of Canal Fulton, Ohio) on a Compugraphic Jr phototypesetting system—the same system used in our high school graphics program. On day one at The Signal, I was instructed, “No double spacing after sentences.” Like that typing class, I never ask why this was.
Reporters in our newsroom would type up their stories/manuscripts on regular typewriters and upon editing, the manuscripts would be sent up to composition where I would rekey each story into our phototypesetting system. Of course this rekeying of any given manuscript opened me up to possible typographic errors, but it also allowed me to edit out the various typewriter practices that weren’t suitable for publishing—omitting two spaces after sentences was one of them.
It was only in college that started learning the basic dos and don’ts of typography, and more importantly, the rationale behind them.
When the typewriter came on the scene in the early 1900s, many different practices were introduced that addressed the device’s poverty of characters (think the limited number of key strikers that crash against the ink ribbon and transfer the mark onto the paper). Many of the characters that we take for granted on our PCs were impossible to produce on a typewriter such as choosing between roman, boldface, italic, and bold italic. There were no options for real quotes, apostrophes, or prime marks—just the straight, up and down prime marks (that were used interchangeably as quotation marks and apostrophes, often called “straight quotes”). Other characters unavailable on a typewriter were real fractions, dashes, diacritical indicators, etc. So, the practice of double spacing after sentences was simply another way of accommodating the limitations of the typewriter, such as—and here’s the important part—the generation of monospaced characters, where every character takes up the same amount of space (even a period or space takes up the same width as a capital/uppercase W or M).
Monospaced vs. Proportionally spaced
In an effort to break up the monotony of monospaced characters, double spacing following a sentence was introduced to improve the “readability” of the copy (look that definition up, there’s more to it than you think). These typewriter practices were very appropriate for the limited-characters the device could generate, but when the typewriter was phased out, sadly some of these practices were carried over to the PC—in particular desktop publishing. But the PC was never about emulating the typewriter even if it had the same keyboard layout. Contrary to that the PC offered all of the features that had always been available in traditional and modern typesetting systems, but at a cost that many could afford. When tools/equipment of any profession become democratized like this, there is always the chance that training and knowledge of the processes are ignored or simply overlooked. The same thing happened with plumbing when PVC was introduced. So, anyone could be a plumber as long as they had a hack saw and glue (so we thought). The same is true in owning a PC and having access to professional software (fonts included). Just because one has the tools doesn’t make one a publisher or graphic designer, although that is the route that many have taken. In the transition from typewriters to PCs, many people have assumed that the lessons they learned on a typewriter were just as valid on the PC. However, limiting typography to the practices originating from a typewriter is akin to limiting architecture to only using cinder blocks.
The storage area size of each character relates directly to its frequency of usage, including the 3-em space.
When it comes to word spacing (including after sentences) typesetting systems used for printing and publishing, going back to hand setting individual metal characters (see diagram above), have always used a 3-em space between words and after sentences because the typefaces available were elegant and smart in their designs, and more importantly were proportionally spaced (google that). Look closely at any publication worth its salt, you won’t see double spacing after sentences because it isn’t needed. Also worth noting is that double spacing between sentences can hobble some justification if it falls at the end of a line.
Most don’t know this, but the holy 3-em space is what you always get when you hit the spacebar on your PC. Type designers and foundries would surely protest violently if they knew typewriter practices were being used on their proportionally-spaced type designs. Most fonts on PCs are proportionally spaced fonts—Times Roman, Helvetica, Arial, Garamond, etc. But, there are a few monospaced fonts available on a PC as well. The font Courier is the most common. So, as I would tell my students, if you use Courier (or some other monospaced font), by all means double space after sentences. Otherwise, it’s single spacing for everything else—it always has been!
A Dimwitted Rebellion The only exceptions to these tried-and-true typography standards appear to come from various unrelated disciplines that have adopted conflicting standards such as double spacing after sentences no matter what kind of font is used—think English/grammar folk, or the law community as in the case of Attorney Rosenthal. Many of those who defend these “commandeered rules” will say things like, “It just looks better and is easier to read,” or “that’s how I was taught.” But I have yet to meet up with anyone who can cite any legitimate, and widely accepted research that defends their stance.
The irony in all of this is that we now have this incredible system of hardware and software in front of us that can be transformed into a powerful publishing tool. And despite all that, there are some of us who treat it as if it’s still a typewriter. These typographical luddites lack any sense of curiosity or imagination about how today’s PCs can do so much more while failing to circumvent those old practices that were derived from the shortcomings of their early-20th Century typewriters. This is akin to having a Formula One car and only using it to go to the market to get groceries.
I have no push-back for these roped-off cases of bad typography practices in specific professions. If they want to be isolationist in their dumbed-down typographical practices, I say, “live and let live.” But, what I do have a problem with is when some, let’s say, jackass lawyer, with no background in typography, publishing, or graphic design foolishly declares that double spacing after sentences is some kind of universal standard.
There’s a great deal of information that one can easily find on this subject if they’ve made it to this far and aren’t convinced or just want to know more. That’s admirable or just downright crazy—maybe both. Given that I’ve been so outspoken on this topic for years, perhaps there is an abbreviated way to say all this so that it fits on my tombstone. I’m open to suggestions.
File this under the category of “You had one job to do.”
I’m not the biggest bagel fan in the world. Certainly not like those from New York City, but I do like a morning bagel anywhere from two to four times per week. Cinnamon raisin is my go-to bagel when it comes to breakfast—sometimes with just butter, other times with butter and jam, or peanut butter and apple butter on top. It all depends on my mood.
I typically purchase this particular bagel made by Franz Bakery—not because I’m necessarily loyal to them, but because they are widely carried in my shopping radius of travel.
However, this is hardly a perfect marriage. Throughout my relationship with Franz bagels, I will remove a bagel from the bag to discover it poorly cut in half—more so than ever as of late. Whoever or whatever is cutting their bagels in half, isn’t paying attention or needs to be recalibrated.
Time and again, I am holding a bagel half that is so thick, I can barely squeeze it into my toaster which has slots that accommodate the average bagel thickness. Which means the other half is basically the thickness of a Triscuit cracker. Worst yet, it’s not even a uniform cut. As a result each half requires a separate toaster setting due to the extreme differences in thickness. If I put them in the toaster at the same time, one half will come out under-toasted and the other will be over-toasted. This is no way to live.
So annoyed by this, I filled out a customer feedback form on their website (and then wrote this post for good measure).
This isn’t so much about the product’s taste or freshness, it’s likely about the stupid robot that slices the bagels. Lately, it seems like there are at least 2 bagels out of every package that are far from being slice in half. If you can’t cut the bagels is half properly, don’t cut them at all—I’m happy to do that. You’re not doing your customers any favors by cutting them in half if you do a piss-pour job in that procedure.
In short, Franz… Cut it right, or don’t cut it at all.
I half expect to get an apologetic email with coupons for free purchases of any Franz product which isn’t going to appease me. If they really want this customer to be happy, they can send me coupons for free purchases of their competitor’s bagels, or better yet, simply recalibrate/update the software of the tomaton that is slicing the bagels.
Mr. D’s is located on the east side of town, right off Coulter Ave.
Blair’s is located more centrally, and on Coulter Ave.
Albertson’s is also on Coulter Ave, but on the west side of town heading toward Cody.
As of last weekend, my hometown of Powell, Wyoming now has three supermarkets stores. The newest one is Albertson’s—they had their grand opening last Saturday.
Powell has a population of a little over 6,418 people as of 2021. I don’t know what the recommended ratio should be for population and supermarkets, but it seems a bit precarious, which means something has to give.
Although I didn’t go near Albertson’s on the day they opened, I did have a look around the following day and walked out with a purchase an underwhelming purchase of just under $20.
My first impressions of Albertson’s is that the place is tight with isles that are narrow and high. It must have been a real circus in there on the opening day given that their parking lot was full. In comparison, Blair’s (one of the other supermarkets) is much more spacious, but I think once the shoppers of Powell are over the novelty of Albertson’s it won’t feel as claustrophobic with the everyday shopping numbers.
The first thing I did was make a comparison between Albertson’s and the reigning champ of Powell, Blair’s. A loaf of Franz’s Cinnamon Swirl bread (a favorite of mine in the mornings) was on sale at both Blair’s and Albertson’s. Blair’s had it reduced down to $5.99 while Albertson’s brought it down fifty-more cents at $5.49.
The third store in town is Mr. D’s. It was once an IGA, but went through a change in ownership several years ago. Since that time, it hasn’t really kept pace with the offerings and prices at Blair’s. Probably the only attraction in shopping there is their liquor store which is larger, roomier, and seems to have more offerings than Blair’s. I can’t remember the last time I walked through Mr. D’s pushing a shopping cart.
I think Blair’s will remain as my supermarket default for two reasons: 1) they carry my favorite tortillas that are made in Billings (Trevino’s), and 2) because I typically ride my bike to the supermarket, Blair’s is closer. Albertson’s will be at least a half mile farther, and on a cold day or night, that’s a big difference on a bicycle. Further, although Blair’s has been around since 1980, their store is fairly modern—it certainly doesn’t feel antiquated in comparison to the new Albertson’s. I also like the fact that Blair’s offers paper bags which I prefer over plastic and they are better for transporting groceries in the front basket of my bicycle. My only notable complaint directed at Blair’s is the ugly typeface their logo incorporates—some generic stencil-esque, all-caps bullshit.
It was recently reported to me that Mr. D’s had an equipment failure that was responsible for all of their freezers going down and thus their contents was lost and discarded. Some would say that—combined with the arrival of Albertson’s—signals the beginning of the end for Mr. D’s.
A few other items worth noting are the following:
Albertson’s is not a fresh build. It was previously a Shopko store and before that was a Pamida store.
Blairs was once a smaller store located just a little north of where the current store is. They built the new and larger store in the late 1990s? Blair’s have been in business since 1980.
All three stores seem to be close to the same size.
Oh, and the new Albertson’s also has a Starbuck’s coffee shop and a pharmacy. That’s two other entities that are abundant is this town as well.
Like I said before, something has got to give.
Albertson’s Hours: 6:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. Blair’s Hours: 6:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. Mr. D’s Hours: 6:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m.
I attended a student activities “Last Bash” on campus a little over a year ago, and although I didn’t notice it at first, at some point I remember making a note that the music playing over the crowd was classic rock… music from some 40 years ago! Of course, forty years ago that music wasn’t called “classic rock,” it was simply called rock and roll.
Later, when I was home, I started thinking about this more. I considered the same scenario when I was in college during the early 1980s, and considered how forty-year-old music (from the 1940s in case you don’t want to do the math) would have gone over at a “Last Bash” gathering at my alma mater—Arizona State. Surely, if such a thing actually did happen back then, it would only have been in the context of a specific theme—where everyone in attendance would have been in costume from that era. Yet, at this social outing I attended, no one was in a 1980s costume.
Later that summer during the Park County Fair, I noticed that classic rock music was also being played in the background by the carnival ride operators throughout the evening. I suspect no one gave it any thought or bothered to yell at the carnies, “Hey, why don’t you play some current music?”
With these recent observations in mind I thought, “How has “classic rock” maintained such staying power after all of these years? How has it become so ubiquitous and so accepted by today’s younger crowd when music of the same age never would have been tolerated in my youth?”
In answering the question of “Why is classic rock so widely accepted and therefore so ubiquitous,” I suspect there is no one answer that clearly explains it—at least no one can agree on it. So, it’s probably safe to assume that there are several factors that have resulted in the continued acceptance of “classic rock.”
No matter which classic rock radio station you listen to, you’re guaranteed to hear AC/DC’s biggest hits and likely multiple times on any given day.
When I queried a few students about this, one simply answered, “I guess it just aged better.”
Perhaps, but I believe it goes a little deeper than that. My theory has to do with the fact that classic rock was the last genre played on the radio when radio was widely listened to. I think country-western could be included in that too. Further, the name “classic rock” has basically been hijacked and condensed. A more accurate name for it should be “classic rock hits.”
Today however, there are many more sources for one to discover music, and most of those sources are beyond and have probably surpassed the influence of radio. As a result, radio’s popularity has really diminished—in the home, in their car, in the workplace, etc.
I’ve heard many of my generation swear that rock and roll music—specifically from the 60s, 70s and 80s—was the best music ever made. I don’t find that to be necessarily true. It was truly revolutionary, but in my mind that doesn’t translate to trumping other genres of music. My argument is this: for every good song you can name in any music category, someone can surely counter with a really bad song from the same genre.
For example, take this 1979 classic rock hit by Bad Company, Rock and Roll Fantasy. I was never a Bad Company fan and this song probably justifies it.
Here comes the jesters, one, two three, It’s all part of my fantasy I love the music and I love to see the crowd dancin’ in the aisles and singin’ out loud Here comes the dancers one bye one Your mama’s callin’ but you’re havin’ fun You find you’re dancin’ on a number nine cloud Put your hands together now and sing it out loud
Its all part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy Its all part of my rock ‘n roll dream Its all part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy Its all part of my rock ‘n roll dream
Put up the spotlights one and all and let the feelin’ get down to your soul. The music’s so loud you can hear the sound reachin’ for the sky and churning up the ground
Its all part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy Its all part of my rock ‘n roll dream Its all part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy Its all part of my rock ‘n roll dream
And, for the record, that song peaked at #13 on the Billboard Hot 100 hits back then.
Here’s another individual who has basically made the same observations of other song lyrics from the classic rock genre.
And then there are the plethora of robotic “classic rock” radio stations that just play the same hits over and over indefinitely—the same hits that mainstream radio stations played over and over for only weeks on end when they first came out.
You’ll never hear a classic band like The Tubes on any of today’s automated and sterile classic rock stations.
Earlier today, I sat down for one hour to listen and take note of the classic rock songs played on the local classic rock station—KCGL, The Eagle 104.1 here in Powell, Wyoming. KCGL is a member of the Big Horn Radio Network based in nearby Cody that includes eight other radio stations in the area. In their defense, they do claim that their format is “classic hits,” so it’s probably safe to assume we’ll never hear them play The Tubes’ classic rock song White Punks on Dope or Alex Harvey’s Midnight Moses.
For the record, this is what was played during my one-hour listening session:
You’re Still The One / by Orleans All She Wants To Do Is Dance / by Don Henley Night Moves / by Bob Seger Games People Play / by The Alan Parsons Project Goodbye Stranger / by Supertramp Mony, Mony / by Billy Idol Swingtown / by The Steve Miller Band You’re In My Heart / by Rod Stewart Here She Comes / by The Cars Your Love / by The Outfield The Best Of Times / by Styx Margaritaville / by Jimmy Buffett Baby Hold On / by Eddie Money Heart And Soul / by Huey Lewis and the News
After hearing these 14 hit singles, I did a little math. In averaging out the release years for each song, I came up with 1979.5—I would have just completed my freshman year at Arizona State. In averaging out where the songs peaked on the Billboard Hot 100 hits, this grouping came in at 20.2. All where easily in the top 20 with the exception of Here She Comes which only peaked at #35 on the chart, so that really brought the average down.
Although KCGL is one of many radio stations employing this format, in the end, it is simply lazy, unimaginative, and easy radio programming. When will a radio station emerge that plays the non-hits of classic rock as well? Everyone knows Dire Straits Walk of Life or Money for Nothing, but who (beyond their fans) has ever heard their song Heavy Fuel? What if they were to play Springsteen’s album Nebraska in its entirety, or all of the music from the thousands of other bands that were just as good, but never had the right backing to push them out to the radio stations back then? That’s the classic rock radio station I want to tune in and actually listen. But, to create such a radio station, you’d need those who really know and appreciate rock and roll, those who have done the research—not some fat, lethargic mama’s boy who has an associate’s degree in mass media or radio broadcasting.
In its heyday, WMMS out of Cleveland was the gold standard of a true classic rock radio station.
In conclusion, classic rock (i.e., classic rock hits) has simply become the “elevator music” of the 21st Century.
As long as we’re talking music, thanks to the continued popularity of classic rock, today’s younger generation knows much more about the music from my youth than I knew about the music from my parent’s youthful days. That is, several of my students know many of the rock groups from my youth such as Queen, Led Zeppelin, Duran Duran, The Beatles, etc. Yet, I couldn’t have told you much about the music my parents listened to when I was in my 20s like Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey and Duke Ellington. So, I suppose classic rock does have an upside.
Lastly, here’s a couple of philosophical questions: If there’s a genre of “classic rock,” is there a “modern rock” too? What is the cut-off period between the two? And, at what age will today’s modern rock get lumped in with yesterday’s classic rock?
A FedEx Boeing 777 near Powell flying from Memphis to Seattle.
Most people would consider my hometown of Powell, Wyoming—whether they live here or are visiting—a pretty remote place in this world of eight billion humans. Certainly there are other places more remote, but in terms of averages in the United States, we’re pretty much in the boondocks, the sticks, the hinterlands… the middle of nowhere. Some locals call this part of Wyoming, “The Big Empty.”
Typical of remote locations, there is often a lack of diversity in the populations occupying them. And, Powell, Wyoming is no different. With the exception of a small body of international students at the local college, Powell is pretty much a “white-bread” community.
Yet, nearly every clear day I’m reminded that perhaps we aren’t that remote and maybe we’re a little more diverse than I think.
Thanks to a little app on my phone called Plane Finder, I can learn about the planes that fly overhead on any given day which are relatively many given we are in the middle of nowhere. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we are near a major airport, but I’m astounded in how many planes I see flying overhead on any given day—even if they are typically 25,000 feet or higher. And, thanks to Plane Finder, I know about any given plane’s origins, its destination, how high above me it is flying, how fast it is traveling, how long it has been in the air and how much more time remaining in its flight, its manufacturer and model, its flight number, and which airline it represents.
Real time image of FX17 in PlaneFinder.
Beyond the knowledge of these airplanes overhead, flying from all over the country (and world), it’s fun to think about the diversity of the passengers onboard those aircraft that are only about thirty-some thousand feet away as they transit the typical blue skies over Powell. They may look down and see an arid and sparsely populated land mass below—that is anything but inspirational—but I look up and think about the places where they are going to and coming from, and the variety of cultures on board, and suddenly my outlook on the day gets a little brighter.
For example, just today I looked up to see a plane heading almost due south. It was flying from Calgary/YYC to Dallas-Fort Worth/DFW. Not long after, another plane flying due east from Portland/PDX to Chicago/ORD. Other days, I’ve looked up to discover a plane coming from Frankfurt/FRA and heading to Los Angeles/LAX or Las Vegas/LAS.
Visiting with one of my students today—who happens to be an international student from Timor-Leste—I said to her, “You must see all kinds of planes flying over your home town.” Strangely enough, she said airplanes are pretty rare. I was in disbelief, so we looked at the current air traffic over Timor-Leste via Plane Finder, and oddly enough, she was right. There’s all kinds of air traffic in that part of the world, but the routes seem to circumvent her island nation for whatever reason.
I was telling a couple of my colleagues in the art department about this and wondering how we could do some kind of collaborative art project about this local, overhead anomaly. (If something comes to mind as you’re reading this, feel free to leave a comment, or just run with this idea and do something about the planes that fly over your community—wherever it is. I’d love to hear about it too.)
In case you are wondering, yes Powell/POY does have an airport, but no major carriers service our lone landing strip where (mostly) single-engine puddle jumpers land and take-off. If you want to get on a major carrier airplane while in Powell, you’ll have to find your way to nearby Cody/COD or Billings, Montana/BIL about 90-miles away.
Of course, now that I know more about these planes that fly quietly overhead, more questions have found their way to me, leading to more rabbit holes to go down on the internet. For example, I noted that FedEx flies their planes over Powell on a regular basis from Memphis/MEM to Portland/PDX or Seattle/SEA and back.
FedEx’s Memphis hub map of flights.
That got me thinking, “What’s so significant about Memphis/MEM to Portland/PDX or Memphis/MEM to Seattle/SEA? It turns out that Memphis/MEM is the main hub and the location of their headquarters. Everything that is FedEx seems to pass through Memphis/MEM. And, how did that come to be, I wondered? Because during FedEx’s infancy, they purposely chose Memphis/MEM because Memphis International Airport/MEM is near the mean population center of the country and inclement weather is relatively infrequent compared to other centrally located international airports.
While waiting for the oil to be changed in my truck at Right Choice Automotive Repair in Fairbanks, Alaska, I decided to hang around their modest waiting area rather than leave the premises (since I had no other ride). Instead of turning to my phone, I noted a disorganized pile of magazines and pulled the first one off the top because it appeared to be the newest.
The May 2022 issue of Vogue would be my muse as I waited for the ordinary yet necessary service to my rig.
The first thing that came to mind as I started to browse through the pages was what I often tell my students, “Stay up to date with as much as you can, stay up with current trends and fashion, the news, culture, art, everything around you whether it interest you or not. It will make you a better graphic designer.” Following up on that, I thought yes, a subscription to Vogue magazine would be a step in the right direction when it came to such advice.
As those thoughts went through my head, I pondered the last time I had picked up a magazine of this genre myself. It had been awhile—long enough that I couldn’t recall when. Mind you, when I was in my mid-20s, I had a subscription to Gentleman’s Quarterly (GQ) for at least two years. So, there’s that.
Unlike my mid-1980s, young-adult outlook, I wasn’t looking through Vogue as a consumer now, I was looking at it as a graphic designer—taking note of all the techniques and treatments they employed in their advertising and editorial pages. With that keen eye dialed in on the pages, I didn’t find anything too cutting edge. In fact, many of the layouts were fairly pedestrian. I reckoned that this conservative design ensured that whatever typography and design was employed, it wouldn’t distract from the “high-end” photography whether it was on the editorial or advertising pages. And, isn’t that why people pick up magazines like Vogue… for the photography?
Omega watches model: she clearly doesn’t like wearing a watch.
Along with the above, here are a few not-so-graphic-design take-aways from my one-hour romp with Vogue in a Fairbanks, Alaska, car repair shop.
Regarding the skin care and make-up advertisements throughout the publication, I would like to challenge these advertisers to run disclaimers in their adverts akin to what the tobacco companies are required to post in their advertisements and products, but a little different… something along the lines of, “No Photoshop was used in the creation of this advertisement.” I mean, think about it, you’re advertising a skin care product that is said to make skin look smooth and youthful, but like most advertisers, (and most folk know this) you have post-production Photoshop work on the images to make sure the model’s skin in the advert is actually smooth and youthful. That’s hardly a convincing sale.
Speaking of smooth and youthful skin, where are the older adults? I never noticed their absence when I was going through GQ back in my youth, but it was glaring in this 2022 Vogue issue. I mean if you want to talk about how great your skin care product is, why not employ a model who is at least pushing 40 instead of 20? (Who cares if they do Photoshop work at that point?)
My recollection of 1980s GQ was that the models all appeared happier, or at least not miserable—even if they weren’t all smiling back then. Most of the posers in 2022 (assuming this issue of Vogue represents today’s average model facial expression) are simply expressionless, and come across as bored, even miserable as if they were some kind of indentured, rich punk. I have to wonder, was the photographer behind the camera saying things like, “C’mon, show me sexy, babe,” or were they saying, “Show me how excited you are about a weekend getaway with… (insert least favorite celebrity/politician here).”
Perhaps the exception in fashion magazines: an older model who is clearly happy for Dolce & Gabbana.
I know these kind of publications are known for their advertisements and that’s one of the top reasons people purchase them, but I counted 27 pages of advertisements before I reached part one of the table of contents. Following that, more ads and then part two of the table of contents. The first editorial piece was listed on page 49.
A few things that I noted that haven’t changed at all since the 80s is the advertisers. There is still an abundance of jewelry, clothing, make-up, skin care, and perfume ads (and their fragrant pages), but only one cigarette ad in the entire issue and it wasn’t even a cigarette one would associate with fashion—Lucky Strikes, the cigarette my father smoked when he was a young man.
I suppose my grumblings here are somewhat expected given my past 60-year-old status, but I did find one very nice and refreshing feature of this 2022 periodical—it’s cover featured a pregnant, Black woman named Rihanna. I hear she’s very talented and popular.
I’ve been struggling lately with the following: I love to kill mosquitos. Truly, the only good mosquito is a dead one… or at least one about to be eaten by a creature that feeds on them.
There I said it (i.e., “…forgive me Father for I have sinned”). It seems wrong to admit this. It seems wrong to say that I enjoy killing anything. But, there’s nothing like having a mosquito alight on your forearm only for it to be squashed rather than sucking your blood. It’s so satisfying. Or even if he does start to partake of your precious bodily fluid, to smash it before it can lift-off in time is pretty rewarding too—in a vengeful sort of way.
I suspect I’m far from being alone in this frame of mind.
This started me thinking about why it is so many of us truly love to kill them and, why—in my case—I don’t like to kill anything else.
Perhaps it is their small size. The smaller something is, and the simpler it is as an organism, and thus the better it feels to kill it. Yet, I don’t go out of my way to step on ants or squish a spider, but I don’t have much guilt when I consider all of the various splattered insects on the grill of my car or truck after a long road trip in the summer. If I hit a bird or run over a small animal, that will bother me—sometimes for days.
Each of us should probably ask ourselves, how big does an organism have to be before we end up feeling guilty about ending its life.
To enjoy the killing of mosquitos might also have something to do with how one can’t reason with a mosquito. You can’t just say “NO!” to them like a dog or some other threatening animal. You can’t shoo them away either. They don’t listen, they just relentless keep on coming after you, and the only way to stop them is to kill them. Even the slightest physical force is likely to kill them given their tiny and delicate anatomy, so might as well be certain in their killing.
Oh, I suppose if you are a committed humanitarian, you can repel them with my favorite Alaska aftershave, Off! (the Deep Woods variety), but who wants to spray poison all over their skin everyday—even when indoors—just to repel a pest with a single-minded objective of drinking your blood.
The idea of being attacked must have something to do with enjoying the killing of a mosquito. No one likes to be attacked. Come to think of it, I like killing deer flies and horseflies too. Why? Because I’m being attacked in the same way. Something wants to bite me, I will likely want to kill it, and in the case of mosquitos, enjoy doing it. There’s no turning the other cheek to mosquitos or other biting insects in my world.
So perhaps that is it… the simple fact that we are being relentless attacked by a species that clearly outnumbers us, and along with all of that, carries a number of deadly diseases in their assaults on us.
Here in Alaska (for the summer of 2022) where there are so many mosquitos, they take the killing of them to another level. Introducing the electrically charged mosquito racquet. At first glance, it looks like a racquetball racquet, but with two AA batteries (or USB charging) and the push of a button, any flying insect in its way, gets zapped. If they get trapped in the metal mesh of the racquet and the operator keeps the button engaged, they are simply cremated. Again, it’s a bit disconcerting to say this, but this mosquito racquet is pretty cool as the blood-suckers are practically vaporized before your very eyes.
I overheard on the radio yesterday that during the Stone Ages, it is estimated that half of the population back then died from malaria-carrying mosquitos. So, consider the killing of these pests as payback for the death of so many of our ancestors.
On the brighter side regarding mosquitos, the gene-editing technology CRISPR is to be used to produce a gene-altered mosquito that would be released into the wild carrying an anti-malarial protein that would be passed on to offspring when mating with other mosquitos. Ideally, malaria could be wiped out or drastically reduced in the near future. For now it appears that this treatment is probably at least a decade out before full implementation. If that’s the case, you might want to invest in some good, old-fashioned mosquito protection (see above).
Looking down on a section of the Permafrost Highway
Somewhere north of Haines Junction, Yukon Territory and say, 30 miles south of Tok, Alaska is a stretch of the Alaska Highway (AlCan Highway) that really test one’s resolution and will to “go north.” This 250-300 mile stretch of highway appears to suffer from the freezing and thawing related to the permafrost, and nothing suffers more than the road itself—in particular the asphalt.
Sometime after passing through Haines Junction, one gets the feeling that Canada—or at least the Yukon Territory doesn’t want the traveler to leave as the road seems to deteriorate the farther up the road you travel. I was reminded of that line from the song Hotel California, “You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave…”
After 75 or so miles of dodging potholes and uneven folds of asphalt, I found a campground about 50 miles before the Alaska border. I fell asleep in the back of my truck wondering if the Americans had an answer for permafrost’s unrelenting war on asphalt.
The next morning, my hope in Yankee engineering and road crews wilted—before I was even five miles past the border. As it turns out the Americans have lost the battle to permafrost as well.
It’s comical to observe the various methods (dare I say, “patchworks”) employed in attempting to alleviate the effects of permafrost—from new asphalt to chip-seal patches that probably last no longer than a week after a few heavy trucks have roll over them. Adding to the comedy are the occasional signs that warn, “ROUGH ROAD,” as if all the other road mines along the way were somehow insignificant.
Once in Alaska the speed limit increases to 65 mph compared to 80-90 kph in Canada. I want to see someone drive that part of this road at 65 with their cruise control on. In such a case, we would be talking about someone with a death wish, or at least someone who has fallen out of love with their vehicle. Very few stretches occurred where I was able to travel over 50 mph due to my truck’s stiff suspension.
Speaking of stretches, there are those places where the highway as been repaved (my guess within the last year) and like a mirage, seems like a normal two-lane highway suddenly, but in another half-mile to a mile, potholes and massive heaves reappear in the asphalt, preventing you from anything that resembles a relaxing drive—just as you start to think that maybe they’ve finally got it figured out. It’s somewhat reminiscent of a shooting arcade (or “Whac-a-Mole”) as you’re driving through a gallery of mixed asphalt obstacles that are continually popping up with little time to react.
Permafrost pothole detail
Given the shortened season for road construction up here, it seems like maintaining this highway is a lost cause. It will likely never be smoothed out completely—at least not in this particular stretch. After all, why would Alaska want to fix the remaining miles of their highway that simply and only allows people to exit to the Yukon Territory (Canada)—and the same goes with the Yukon and the remaining miles in their road leading to Alaska (U.S.)?
One has to wonder if there is any discussion about returning these roads back to dirt/gravel. In the case of permafrost, road graders would simply blade, thus re-leveling the road each spring in time for a new crop of tourists. Surely this topic gets thrown around from from time to time, but when do asphalt roads ever experience a downgrade?
In all of this grim reporting of road conditions, there is some comfort in knowing that not too far from Tok, Alaska, the permafrost is somehow subdued and the road stays smooth sailing all the way to Fairbanks (and Anchorage I’m assuming)—60 mph easy.
However, there is the return trip to keep in mind if one wishes to return to those places where home is somewhere in the latitudes of Calgary or below. For now, I have almost two months of preparation; that is, psyching myself up for the return trip down the Permafrost Highway .
