How I despise you. You remind me of a slutty Aunt that dresses like a slutty teenager.

Before I argue against using Helvetica, please read my disclaimer¹, and be delighted with this joke:

Two fonts walk into the bar, and the barman says, “Sorry lads, we don’t serve your type.”

Now, look look at these five posters:

What do you see?

I see Mr. Potato Head, and his bucket of lameness. Sure, you can pull out his eyes and rearrange his body parts, but in the end he’s still a potato, and he’s boring. The posters try to be unique, and fail. I can almost hear each designer, “Make this bold. Now tighten the leading. Perfect! Look at texture, look at the form!”

I want to barf.

To me Helvetica is like the Microsoft Frontpage of fonts. Using it requires as much skill as sky diving – just jump out of the plane, pull a cord and presto! To some, this is a good thing. The International Herald Tribune writes:

[the people] have become amateur typography experts by choosing our favorite styles from the fonts menus on our computers². 

Amateur typography experts?³

The BBC also chooses to celebrate the beauty and simplicity of Helvetica:

There are hundreds of choices [fonts], but many of these movers and shakers don’t take a lot of leafing before plumping for Helvetica.

Before plumping for Helvetica?⁴ The article continues:

“It doesn’t have an expression of fashion… it looks like a very serious typeface,” says Frank Wildenberg, managing director of Linotype, the German firm that owns the font.

So it’s seriously unfashionable. I couldn’t agree more! Leave it to Bush and Cheney to put the Hell back into Helvetica.

(Notice how the bumper sticker is bold, with tight leading. How original!) I loathe your simple beauty, Helvetica! You make any chump a typographer!

<sub>1. This discussion is as important as whether you should fold or scrunch toilet paper before wiping your ass
2. Thankfully Microsoft excluded Helvetica from Word 2007 and yet we still have Wingdings. Why, Bill, why?
3. Does this make sense to anyone?
4. Am I missing something? Again, does this make sense to anyone?</sub>

“Sure, how many lanes and how many people?”

“One lane will do, and somewhere between four and six people,” I said.

“We have a lane available at 6:40, what’s your name?”

“Jeff,” I said.

“What?”

“My name’s Jeff.”

“What, I’m sorry?”

“You know, Jeffrey, but just Jeff.”

“…”

“Oh you mean Jif! I didn’t understand you.”

“Yes. Jif. My name is Jif.”

Damn you New Zealand, and your softened vowels! I am not a peanut butter, a type of lemon juice, a cleaning product or a programming language. To explain, here is an excerpt from Wikipedia:

A vowel shift has occurred in New Zealand English. Front vowels, with one exception, are pronounced higher in the mouth than in England English. For example:

• pan sounds like pen
• pen sounds like pin
• pin sounds like pun
• pair sounds like peer

They forgot to include that deck sounds like dick, which always makes me chuckle.

Being called Jif reminds me of packed lunches at school. It’s not so bad, I guess.

If I were to describe Rich in one verb, it would be “to drink.” For example, tonight he will drink a half dozen bottles of wine, a dozen beers and a liter of vodka. And he’ll live.

After all, he’s English.

This afternoon I offered him a shot of tequila. He refused (stubborn). “I dont want to,” he claimed.

I pushed him down the slide. We took our first shot at twelve, and subsequently our second and third shots of tequila during lunch. He had fun!

Then I fell asleep while he cleaned and decorated for the party.

The themes for the party are bunnies¹, zombies² and scrubs³. You can see a picture of Rich in scrubs here. Sadly, I suspect this will be my last party at Hobson house. She treated me well, she did!

<sub>1. After all, it’s Easter.
2. After all, it’s Easter, please have a sense of humor.
3. Rich doesn’t want to be a bunny or zombie, but a doctor instead.</sub>

So, if you were born in India, the United Kingdom, South Africa, Canada, Australia, Ireland or New Zealand, remember I say words like aluminum and zucchini whereas you say aluminium and courgette³. Now, the first verb:

to feed    
verb,  fed, feed·ing, feeds

Note, this is a verb. It can be used as a noun (like chicken feed), but first and foremost, it is a verb. For example, I want to feed the baby. I need to feed the cows. Should we feed the fish? Yet somewhere, somehow, some Kiwi butchered this verb and said:

Are you hungry? Let’s have a feed.

How irritating. But, it is listed as a noun in the American Heritage Dictionary (you’re lucky this time). Now, the second verb:

to sleep   
verb, slept, sleep·ing

Again, this is a verb. Note the infinitive. For example, I want to sleep. The dog is sleeping. Yet somewhere, somehow, some Kiwi swallowed this verb and a day or two later (give or take) shat this:

I’m going to have a sleep.

Why! Dear God! Why would anyone say this? What’s even worse, is that they enjoy the sound this makes as it hits the water in the toilet! How vulgar! Someone, somewhere, please explain this to me! Even Google failed to offer me an explanation. I don’t know why this bothers me so much.

Maybe I need a new hobby.

<sub>1. This idea was hard to admit.
2. For example, Leonardo da Vinci and Alexander Hamilton were bastards. Even Einstein fathered an illegitimate child.
3. Courgette is terribly French, wouldn’t you say?</sub>

My family wonders too. My parents and brother flew to Wellington to celebrate my birthday, and to dip their toes in the idea of New Zealand. Their visit was a blur of eating, sleeping and drinking. I introduced Mike (the brother) to Riesling.

“Try this wine, you’ll like it.” He took a sip. His face lit up with glee. He gulped. I poured him another glass. He poured himself another glass. I said, “Mike! Riesling is not meant to be sucked up like a child’s milkshake! Twirl the glass, savour!”

He drank more. His eyes sagged. His head gained weight. He vomited at the dinner table, on the dinner table. I thought this was endearing, the wait staff (at Logan Brown) cursed the day they served him beef and gravy.

For my parents, this was the Cool Whip on the apple pie. But one night, while eating and drinking, I realized our roles in life changed. When I was young I would say, “I don’t want to eat that. It’s green.” My parents would say, “Eat it. Vegetables make you strong.”

Now my parents say, “I don’t want to eat that. It’s foreign.” And I say, “Eat it. It will keep your bowel movements regular.”

Ah, the joys of life. It was a sobering moment. I miss them. I hope they’ll come back!