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Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

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Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2002-02-27

I was bored today. Bored. Boooored. At first I didn’t know what to do, so I turned on the telly. Bad move, Sunset Beach. If there was a hell, not even Satan would want to touch those involved in that piece of shit out of fear of getting “dirty”.

I had not other choice than to turn it of again. The screen was infected and needed to be cleaned. Instead I picked up and cintinued reading Eric Gill’s An Essay on Typography and right there and then I decided to draw a typeface. It won’t be the greatest gift to mankind, but hopefully it will be better than the horrible Helvetica. (Not that it will be a sans-serif though, I like them a little bit more pointy truth to be told.)

(The crap in the title refer to Sunset Beach, not Eric Gill’s book.)

I told you I was bored, when that mood is upon me things like this is happen. Truth to be told, the whiteness on the borders had started to make me restless. Too much empty spaces, it was as if I’d been imprisoned in an asylum, with only porridge to eat. I don’t like porridge. You see what I struggle against here? Things that remind me of inedible food, but apart from that I mean?

I couldn’t pretend any more. I’m not one of those sans-serif people, so when I used Trebuchet it felt as if I was living a lie. Trival matters to most people, but not to me. That was how it started, and then just like a falling elevator it just passed on by the floors al the way to the bottom. Bottom = redesign.

It didn’t even have time to grow on me. It’s kind of sad really. Tissue?

(If you use IE, just pretend that the dashed line consists of dots. It look much better then, even if you’re limited to mental editing.)

I’ve got a lot of books to read in the course, Shakespeare, Bronte, Pinter and a bunch of other English classic literary works. (No Flann O’Brien which bugs me to no end. They have books by him in the library but they don’t use them to anything. Weird. No Jerome K. Jerome either and they have several Three Men in a Boat aligned on the shelves. Those books we were assigned to read had been forgotten by the library altogether, so we’re forced to buy them. Bastards.)

However, and this is a big one of those, I’ve just agreed to write the apa membership fanzine for April/May. Despite I have had problem filling out my own fanzine (which by the way will now take even longer to get finished). Despite that I now have a deadline and I suck at those. Despite all the work we’ve been assigned to read at the course. I must be crazy.

This has made me realise that I’ve got to have some priorities, sort things up in an order which represents how important it is. Fanac or study? Fanac or study? There is only one way out though and I’ve known it all along. It is as if the choice glows and illuminate the room. It’s in my blood, I can’t betray and turn my back on it no matter how much I really need to.

School, bend over.