James T. Edmondson

About a week before the due date, Sadie said to me, “I’m over it.” Relentless heartburn, and frequent trips to the bathroom were making her sleep awful, and thus the final weeks of pregnancy unbearable.

I woke up at about 6:30 Friday morning. Sadie reported that she had been up for about an hour with fluid leaking out of her. In retrospect, its very clear that her water broke, but at the time we weren’t sure as it wasn’t the gush of fluid it’s made out to be in the movies.

We called the hospital, and they said to come in to check things out. Knowing that we might not come home for a few days, we grabbed our packed bags, took a shower, and made the 7 minute drive to Oakland Kaiser.

We went to Triage 1, a small room where we were met by a doctor with a speculum to check out Sadie in a way reminiscent of medieval torture. Sadie was obviously in pain, so she made a call for a smaller speculum. We waited for about an hour, watched an episode of Hoarders, and finally another doctor came in. We still weren’t sure what was going on, but the new doctor also made a call for a smaller speculum. Sadie got up to pee, and had clearly been sitting in a puddle of fluid. At that point, the speculum was unnecessary. Sadie’s water had clearly broken, so we were encouraged to stay at the hospital, and take some drugs to induce contractions. Apparently there was a small increase in risk of infection if we were to go home and wait.

We then moved to room 333, which was pretty large and comfortable. It was pretty much a two star hotel room with enough medical electronics to make you wonder about all the possible scenarios in which various machines are made necessary. The nursing staff presented the information like a well-oiled machine. Everyone we came into contact with had clearly been through it all a thousand times, but despite their obvious experience, were not jaded to the miracle of birth. We were met with smiles and warm wishes from nearly everyone we came into contact with.

Sadie was hooked up to and IV and given misoprostal. She quickly went from saying things like ”I think I just had a contraction,” to being in so much pain that she turned completely inward. Her breathing changed, her eyes closed, and in general she looked like she was begging the lord for mercy. It was gnar. As wavesof pain dominated her consciousness, I alternated between holding her hand and stroking her arm, fully aware I was doing nothing.

At this point, we turned off the the tv, and Sadie started talking about an epidural. It quickly went from ”I think I’d like one, but I want to hold off for as long as I can” to ”Give me an epidural please.”

I was always curious about how Sadie would be in birth. She’s one of the most kind and generous people I‘ve come across—consistently hesitant to demand much of anyone. Sadie is the opposite of a squeaky wheel, but child birth would surely bring out a more demanding side of her, right? Well, not really, she was polite and calm even in some of the most intense moments.

Epidurals are incredible! In minutes she was dozing off with an oxygen mask over her face. I took the time to email some clients with my ”I’m going to be out for a while,” notice, and update our family text message groups about what was going on.

This went on for a while. A new nurse came in named Anne, and she said we ought to sleep while we can. I braced myself for a long night, and took a nap on the built-for-normal-sized-people vinyl couch. When I woke up, things weren’t much different.

My mom and pop were in the waiting area, and I forwarded the message from the nurse that it was going to be a long while, and that they might as well go home. My mom decided to stay.

Soon after I went back in to room 333, Dr. Rounds came in to check Sadie’s cervix for the first time. She’s a very smiley doctor, and I watched with amazement as she happily put on a glove, covered her fingers in lubricant, and nonchalantly inserted finger into Sadie. She removed a hand dripping in blood and tissue, and gleefully said, ”You’re at about three centimeters!” It was a startling juxtaposition I will not soon forget. She walked over to the trash and threw the dripping glove in the hazardous waste.

One particular scary moment came when Sadie shifted to her right side. I was texting the family, updating them on the timeline, when all of a sudden three doctors were in the room. I had no clue what was going on, but no one seemed to be freaking out. Later, a doctor asked Sadie, “Are you the type of person that wants all of the information, or just a little information?” Sadie asked for all of it, and we then learned that Loretta’s heartrate had dropped significantly for about a minute and a half. If it goes to three minutes, they transport Sadie to the operation room for an emergency c-section. Luckily, after switcher her to her left side, the heart rate came back so all was well. I was just amazed at how little time it took to have 3 more doctors in our room.

Nurse Anne told us that it could take 1-2 hours per centimeter, and we had 7 to go. Sadie was then given a tiny dose of oxytocin, another contraction inducing medication. In about an hour, Sadie’s intense contractions were so frequent, that Anne thought we might be getting close. I was completely shocked when an hour later Anne began prepping the room. She checked Sadie, and her cervix had dilated all the way to 10. It was go time.

One by one, more doctors and nurses entered the room. Even a trainee that was ok’d by Sadie was hanging out. Watching their flurry of activity was incredible. I was comforted by the fact that every one in the room seemed to be going through the motions like it was muscle memory. They meticulously laid out all the instruments and blankets, and wheeled a cart to the front of Sadie’s bed. Sadie turned on her right side, and I held her ankle with my left hand and widened her hips by holding her knee with my right hand. Sadie felt a contraction coming on, and then she pushed.

That’s when I saw Loretta’s little purple head for the first time. It was GNARLY, but in all honesty, I thought there was no possible way that anything was going to come out of an orifice that small.

With each contraction, there were three pushes, and with each push, I got to see more of Loretta’s little head as I enthusiastically cheered on mama. Sadie wasn’t screaming or crying. It was a facial expression that was new to me for sure, but at no point in the process did I feel like she was going to rip my head off or curse me for what I had done to her.

The doctor said, ”Ok you’re going to push until I tell you not to push anymore.” Then Loretta’s whole head came out, and the doctor said, ”Don’t push!” Then Loretta’s entire body emerged covered in a light yellow paste and some blood. The plastic liner Sadie was sitting on was completely submerged in a puddle, they handed Loretta to Sadie, I cut the cord, and the doctor began stitching Sadie’s second degree laceration. I was overjoyed, but I was also thinking, “Is this a normal amount of blood?” Turn out it was totally normal.

The next fifteen minutes were spent alternating between telling Sadie I love her and what a good job she did, kissing Loretta and telling her I love her, thanking the nursing staff, and talking about how beautiful Loretta was.

We were moved to room 368, which was set up like a hotel room with a crib. I had the same vinyl couch to sleep on, but this time it was sandwiched between two walls so there was no room for my feet to hang off. Never have I felt less likely to complain.

Sadie was walked to the bathroom by nurse Sherry, a woman with swaddling skills so refined, it was a thing of beauty to see her in action. In seconds, Loretta would be rolled up like a little Vienna sausage and sleeping contently. We made it through our first night as a family without much fuss. Loretta was even latching right away.

The second day wasn’t too bad, but I was slightly disappointed to learn they wanted us to stay another night. Family visited, Loretta got the necessary shots and treatments, and whenever we needed anything, a competent nurse was seconds away. I took an amazingly refreshing shower, and settled in for night two, which was supposed to be much harder than night one.

Indeed that was true. Loretta was much fussier than before, and Sadie took the brunt of it. The hours trickled by, and I dreamed of sleeping in our bed and showering at home.

Finally, it was time to go, but Sadie was exhausted and still sleeping. Loretta was also catching up on some rest, so I let the girls snooze while I packed the car and got the discharge medications. Nothing makes you feel like a dad more than packing a car.

Driving home felt like true freedom. I had two perfectly healthy ladies with me, the Avalon was running like a top, and the Oakland sun was shining bright during our 7 minute drive home.

I still don’t feel like I’m fully into fatherhood, but sometimes just catching my own reflection in a mirror while I’m carrying a carseat, or holding a sleeping Loretta on my chest makes me feel a step closer. Sadie had nine months of a quality time to brace herself for motherhood, but fathers don’t have that, and experience fewer of the chemical and hormonal changes. I’m giving myself time now to excel in my janitorial duties and focus on spending quality time with my girls.

In June we got notice that the building Sadie and I were living in was set to be sold. Soon after, prospective buyers awkwardly toured our home while I worked on fonts in the office. Quickly after that, we were notified of who the new owners of the building were, but not to worry—that it’s a huge pain in the ass to get tenants out of a rent-controlled apartment in San Francisco. What a relief that was! Sadie and I were trying for a baby (or we had at least ”pulled the goalie”) and it was comforting to know our tenancy wasn’t in jeopardy. Around the same time Sadie got pregnant, we were learned some discomforting news.

[We aren’t allowed to talk publicly about everything that went down, but there were lawyers involved, lots of googling, meetings at the Housing Rights Committee and San Francisco Tenants union (both incredible organizations), and stress. Eventually we were packing up our entire apartment, out of our home, and living in...]

Chapter 1: Hayward

Sadie's Auntie's name is Auntie Baby. It’s difficult for me, as an outsider, to fully understand the various origins of nicknames on her Filipino side of the family. All I kind say is that Auntie Baby is as beloved as any infant and as loving as any mom. She graciously welcomed us into her home for the first two months we were in limbo. Lauren (aka Oyen??), her daughter and Sadie’s cousin, was generous enough to move into her sister Choy Choy(???)’s room, giving Sadie and I a double bed to sleep in, and all the Hulu and Netflix we could consume on her immense flatscreen. Lou, Lauren’s fiancé, temporarily ejected from his bed, would often sleep on the floor. Not once during the two months did I hear a single complaint from anyone. Even Nanay, the curmudgeonly senile grandmother would occasionally smile at us, although her specialty was ranting at me in Tagalog about not eating enough rice. My favorite Nanay moments were when she would sometimes walk into our room in the middle of the night, realize she was in the wrong room, and promptly turn around.

During that period, we would sometimes go house sit for Rick Sakow, an old friend and travel buddy of Sadie’s. Rick’s house—a shining example of the lifestyle that a HomeGoods shopping spree can afford you—was an incredibly haimish respite. It is so thoroughly connected via Alexa, and has such a cozy sectional, that Sadie’s and my cat allergies couldn’t seem to permeate our consciousness. Primely situated on a hillside in the Inner Sunset District of San Francisco, Rick’s apartment became our home away from home, and we actively took advantage of our surroundings on numerous hiking and running adventures nearby. Just kidding, we watched so many episodes of Teen Mom OG and Vanderpump Rules that even Rick’s cat Becky (who easily sleeps 23 hours a day) started judging us.

We also did one week at our friends Sun Helen and Philip’s apartment in West Oakland. As an evangelist of home organization, their place speaks to me on a very deep level. It’s the sort of dwelling that makes a Muji catalog look crass. Bright, open spaces are punctuated by intimate corners of coziness, and throughout the entire home, you can tell Google what color the lights should be. Their home was the closest I've been to traveling to Copenhagen, while still being fifteen minutes away from Sadie’s work.

Chapter 2: San Diego

We knew Auntie Baby would never hint that we were wearing out our welcome, but as the Christmas season approached, it was time to ramble. We rented an Airbnb in San Diego to spend time with Sadie's Dad, her sister Tracy, and Tracy's wonderful kids. San Diego was not the flip-flop reggae fest I thought it would be, and I actually learned to love it. It’s the place Sadie went after high school. She grew up there, and I had a good time visiting her former watering holes like Red Fox Room, her favorite fish taco truck, and seeing the Christmas lights in Balboa Park. The pace was very chill, and houses are certainly cheaper than the Bay Area. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to change courses entirely and relocate. It was in San Diego that we learned the gender of our baby (fun!) and had my worst bout with food poisoning of my adult life (not fun!).

Chapter 3: Frank and Tânia's.

After the holidays, we drove nine hours up to Frank and Tânia’s back in Oakland. Their home is a sanctuary for books, premium amaro, and homemade bread. Frank and Tânia have a steadfast dedication to quality in whatever they do. Whether it’s making coffee, choosing a record, or simply making us feel comfortable, they were executing with Portuguese warmth and German precision. Many nights were spent listening to intense games of Ticket to Ride, an iPad game played between Sadie, Frank, and Tânia that, despite having extremely low stakes, made emotions run high. As someone that has never enjoyed any game besides Heads Up, I got my kicks from working on baby shower invitations in the dining room while they played.

Chapter 4: San Leandro.

Our house hunt had begun. We were in touch with a solid real estate agent, and were spending every possible weekday on redfin.com, and every possible weekend scoping open houses. It’s soul-crushingly bleak to try and compete for homes in the Bay Area. There is awesome stuff available, but when the competition is paying cash, 30 percent over the asking price, you have no choice but to alter your expectations, and open yourself to worse houses in other areas. This is how we found San Leandro!

We had hit a limit on crashing with friends and family, and decided to look for an Airbnb that had a kitchen, was close to BART, and didn’t cost more than our old place in SF. That happened to be downtown San Leandro, and we took the opportunity to check out real estate options there as well.

We put our first bid on a house, and lost it by a significant margin. Then we repeated that process on a less desirable house. Then, while working at Peet’s Coffee on 14th Street, I had my laptop stolen right out from under my hands. I immediately chased the thieves as quickly as my gangly stems could carry me, but a ghost tripped me, and I fell hard on my left hip. For reasons I don’t quite understand, the teenage female with the sticky fingers dropped it. The computer was banged up, but still worked. It a bit embarrassing to admit, but it really shook me up. I was bummed that someone wanted to risk that much for so little. The police officer said it had been happening constantly in downtown San Leandro. I know that it’s also happening all over the Bay Area, but after losing two houses, and being a victim of grand theft, it was like God was whispering in my ear that San Leandro was not the place for us.

Proportionally related to our frustration with living out of our suitcases, Sadie’s belly was growing significantly, making her have to pee a lot in the night, and giving her merciless back pain during the day. The loft we were renting had two strikes against it: a steep ladder to the bedroom, and a horrifically uncomfortable and tiny couch. It might have had 4 stars on Airbnb, but the place ranks pretty low in appropriateness for pregnant women.

We were desperately sick of that living situation when we went to an open house at 4444 Park Blvd in Oakland. I could wax poetic about everything we love about the house, but all I want to say is it was everything we wanted. It was one block from a strip of restaurants and stores. The schools were great. The community looked fantastic. We wanted it bad.

Digging as deep as possible for this ideal house, we put in our bid. I was working at Snowbird Coffee when I got the call that it was accepted. For one night, Sadie and I felt immense relief.

Chapter 5: Stressville

Then we just had to figure out how to pay for it. I had no idea this was common, but the most stressful part of our journey was definitely escrow. I had made some grave miscalculations in how much money we had, and how complicated it was to borrow against my retirement. Even with us stretching as much as we could, we were short for the down payment. I wanted the house to be something that we did on our own, but when push came to shove, we just couldn’t do it. Unfortunately, we figured that out after wiring the good faith deposit. I summoned all the courage I had and asked two of my brothers and my parents for money. The weird part was that they genuinely seemed happy to help. There was no “How could you be so naïve?” Or ”You need HOW MUCH!?” I am tremendously grateful for their generosity.

Chapter 6: Releifsville

Today we closed on the house. Tomorrow we get the keys. Monday, the movers arrive with our stuff. It seems like everything has finally fallen into place. By the grace of God (and Charles Schwab) we were able to get our down payment to the title company. The weight that is being lifted was heavier than I had even realized. All I want to do is help Sadie get through the remaining months of pregnancy, unpack our stuff, and hang out with my girls. We are grateful and forever indebted to those that helped us during the last six months. If anyone ever needs a place to crash, our door is open.

Stress is a killer, and had a huge effect on health and happiness. There were times in the last six months where I felt like I was hanging on by a thread. My brother Cameron made the point that I was really fine. I always have more emotional elasticity because what is the option? Spontaneous combustion will not play a role in my stress-fueled anxiety spiraling. I won’t die. On the contrary, we’re lucky to be healthy. We’re lucky for so many reasons. Even the baby is perfect.

Erik and Paul were chill enough to ask me to do the Robothon '15 logo. Even though I am no expert in Python, I use RoboFont every day and learned a lot about the UFO workflow during TypeMedia. The subject matter is very close to me, so I was especially stoked to work on this. It was a lovely opportunity to practice a little illustration and get out of my comfort zone.

As usual, I start with bad quick drawings in a sketchbook and move on to actual paper later on.

The initial sketches revolved around sci-fi movie posters (like this one) and robots interacting with the lettering. There was one idea to do all sorts of masters for the logo, and interpolate between them willie nilly any time you needed to slap the logo somewhere. They didn't go for that option. Fortunately, they didn't hate everything, and asked me sketch a bit more in the brushy caps style.

Then, I added a robot shoving pens into the exploding earth. I think type people like robots because they sort of wish they were robots. Or maybe they're robots that sort of wish they were humans.

The powers that be were not digging the asymmetry, so back to the drawing board. 

This tiny-godlike robot was more or less approved, but I mean, c'mon. If I'm going to draw a robot, I'm going to have more fun than that piece of garbage. So I sketched this little below. I put broad nib figures on the left, and pointed pen on the right. Get it? Cause that's what his hands are?

Then the lettering.

Then lots of vectorizing and some color, which made the art directors immediately uncomfortable.

More playing with color.

I'm working harder on this than I've ever worked on anything in my life. That isn't saying very much, but whatever. In a couple of days, I’ll be in the middle of preparing all the final deliverables. That will be more hectic than it is right now. I feel like a weatherman in a windbreaker getting his toupee blown off while reporting live about an approaching storm.

A little while ago I looked at some type I'd drawn right before coming out here. Progress is evident to say the least. I had a long list of things I was hoping to learn more about this year, and the curriculum included all of them and much more. You can truly learn a shitload in one year, and I hope a year from now I can look at my final project and say, “what a pile of garbage.”

I leave for the US in exactly one month, then I'll be at TypeCon in DC before arriving in SF August 4. Always love me a good type conference.

I am so looking forward to not needing the internet to see what my friends are up to. I never got comfortable with being away from my core group of homies. There are a lot of factors, but basically, because we are so focussed on school, there is little room to gain social footing outside of the classroom. Besides that, it takes me a long time to get settled anywhere. When I moved to San Francisco it was about 3 years before I had a solid group of friends there to hang out with all the time, and that was with plenty of free time and speaking the native language!

Luckily the classmates have been rad, and I'm constantly blown away by the group we have. Everyone is happy to lend a helping hand, and I think I've gotten nicer just being around them. I find it so amazing that no one is an asshole. Looking at everyone’s project, and seeing how far they all came in the last 9 months is pretty dope. I’m just so proud.

The revival project is coming to a close, and now that we’re beginning work on the final, I feel like this is the halfway point.

Today we gave presentations covering what we’d like to work on for our final project. The image above was a slide I showed. It’s weird when you’re giving a presentation, you look briefly at your notes, and you realize you don't know how to read. Talking casually in front of a room full of absurdly distinguished type masters is hard, but it’s certainly a million times better than doing amature stand up comedy!

Thinking about type intensely everyday is cool. I remember the first time I had a dream about type. It was 2008, and I had been going to art school for about a year. Now I dream about type every night. Type and demons and murderers. Normal stuff!

We’re seeing applications and portfolios steadily flow into the classroom. A new wave of feeling lucky to be here is rushing over me, and I hope I’m making the most of it all.

Homesickness has eased up. I guess everyone gets used to it. It just took me maybe a little longer than other folks. Maybe cause my homies in SF are so dope.

I’ve been thinking a whole lot about spacing. Spacing is the big enchilada in type. People like to say, “It’s not the black shapes, it’s the white shapes between the black shapes!” I think they’re usually just trying to sound provocative and blow minds, but there is supreme, godly truth in it. In our pointed pen class, we learned that we were all spacing our caps too tightly, and that word spaces are much smaller than we thought. Everyone is getting noticeably more skilled before our very laptops.

I’ve learned a shitload about drawing punctuation and accented characters. It’s so nice to ask native speakers how my /ccedilla or /tcaron is looking. This is exactly one of the things I wanted to focus on, and I’m happy to be developing in this areas as well.

I’ve been drawing more too. It’s really easy to get out of the habit of sketching for no reason, but sometimes it’s so nice. Sometimes it actually leads somewhere interesting! I was never naturally good at drawing or illustration, and there was a time in my life that I wouldn’t even consider applying to art school because I thought it was a place for creative geniuses that came out of the womb drawing beautiful nudes. Turns out drawing is like anything else. You suck at it for a long long time and then if you’re still doing it, you suck less. Most of my sketches are still letters, but I’m trying to break out of that here and there.

My experiences at CCA for my undergrad taught me (among other things) how to deal with overwhelming assignments and the stress that comes as a result. My mom sort of taught me to not be a perfectionist (bad advice for a type designer, but good advice for most humans). At school, I’m constantly amazed by the talent and work ethic of my peers. It’s amazing what they have the patience for, and the work they can produce. I am starting to see how my “good enough is good enough” attitude produces inferior work, but I’m not letting it get the best of me. It’s easy to stay positive here because everything we’re doing is super fun, and all my classmates are great peeps. Sincerely. I lucked out to be in the group that we’re in.

The majority of my time is spent on the revival project, in which I’m working on a modern interpretation of Miller & Richard’s Old Style Antique No. 7. Many type designers and historians have been quite kind in helping me out with resources concerning this face, and I hope to not let them down. At the moment, I’m in the process of producing various punctuation and testing other languages. KABK alum Ondrej Job’s Typable and Context of Diacritics are proving to be quite useful. Also, my homie Nina wrote a nice Robofont extension that spits out test words according to a list of mandatory and available characters. It’s awesome and she’s a genius. The idea that one should make their own tools is being beaten over our puny little heads.

My Python skills aren’t much to talk about, but it’s fun to work with code nonetheless. I’ve built a few tiny tools that are not impressive in any way, but are useful to me in my process.

Our broad nib calligraphy class morphed into hard core type design. My understanding of how the broad nib creates letters is a lot more solid now, and I’m a bit embarrassed about how little I knew before. This is still the most challenging class for me, and I have struggled immensely the last couple of weeks to create just ten letters in six different styles. Everything is harder than it looks, and just when I think I’m done, I’ll look at the type from a few meters (so European now!) away, and everything looks off. What I lack in skill, I make up for in patience. Eh, that’s not true. What I lack in skill, I make up for in height.

Stone carving is going well, and I enjoy going to Petr van Blokland’s in Delft once every two weeks. I started making a Greek version of Hobo in Peter Biľak’s class. I’ve been really interested in Hobo recently. I do not know if this interest will lead me anywhere, but Hobo is exactly what’s fun to me and type and lettering. Most designers have a pretty strong opinion about Hobo, and it definitely speaks to a specific mood. In its 103 year lifespan it has survived every typesetting method since metal, and is used all over the world. It’s completely unlike any other system font, and I admire the brave souls who decided it should be one in the first place. Greek Hobo is certainly a challenge, but it’s a fun way to learn a new alphabet.

I just love display faces and how novel they can be. I once thought that a high level education in type would turn me into a more serious designer, interested only in text faces and superfamilies. If anything, I’m getting less serious, and having a ton of fun.

Outside of school, I’m feeling much more physically and emotionally comfortable. I bought a duvet that is large enough to cover my toes AND my torso, so I no longer wake up with cold parts. I think most of my spending money is going towards stuff to make me warmer. I don’t think people who live in cold climates fully understand how nice it is to not live in a cold climate.

I miss my friends and family like whoa. I knew this year would be tough, but I thought schoolwork would provide enough of a distraction to put homesickness to the back of my mind. So far, that has been incorrect. I think about my friends and family constantly, and it is harder than expected to be away. Still, people tell me it gets easier and I do believe that. It’s funny to me how casually students study abroad. Just like, “Yeah, no big deal, I can leave for a year. Later!” On one hand, I get it, and that’s exactly what I said. On the other hand, a huge lesson I’ve learned is that there is nothing more important than being close to the people you love. I ain’t saying that applies to everyone, but it applies to me.

Making life easier is having rad classmates that I love hanging out with, and a nice place to live. Just last night my host mother Totie gave me a laptop stand that she wasn’t using. A week ago she accidently ironed my load of laundry. Before that, she cooked me a Thanksgiving dinner. I love this woman.

I admit my desire to blog is waning. This is by and large a good thing. Being busy with real life is good, and lord knows I spend enough time looking at social media.

Amsterdam was a blast. Volunteering at ATypI was hard work, but we were able to see all the talks that we really wanted to, and it seemed like everyone genuinely appreciated our help.

Sleeping on the houseboat hostile was quite nice as well. Yes, the bed was a bit short, but boat sleeping is hella cozy. I was as comfortable as I could have been.

The best part was hanging out and drinking with the current type[media class, and getting to know the folks from years prior. There are some really wonderful people that have come through the program.

I’m noticing that the type world is full of people that identify with being especially intelligent. As someone who identifies more with dumb jokes and a low stress lifestyle, it’s easy to be intimidated by these intellectual heavyweights. Feeling intimidated is probably just as useless as regret, shame, or embarrassment, so I’ll work on ignoring those feelings when they arise.

And here you can see something that looks almost like type in the blue windows. It reads, "When the light signal turns on, leave the building immediately." I could explain the concept behind this, but instead I won't.

I did two things this weekend. The first was finishing up the sign painting at Tim Boelaars' store in Amsterdam. I was psyched to help out Tim, and it was good to get a little practice in. The store opens on friday, and I hope I can go see it now that everything is ready. It's been fun seeing the progress on the massive remodeling that has been going on over there.

The second was visiting my old Spanish teacher Sylvia Coates and her husband Bill on their houseboat. Accompanying me was their friends Martin and Mariette who are also in the houseboating community. They live close, and were kind enough to pick me up, and drive me over to Bill and Sylvia. It was an amazing experience! Bill did all the interior carpentry that ingeniously utilizes every cubic inch with maximum efficiency. It's quite beautiful as well. 

I am feeling more at home in The Hague. Every one of my classes is fascinating and fun. I am genuinely stoked on all of them. It makes sense. The curriculum at type]media is why I chose to come here.

We still haven't hit the hard part at all. It's literally all fun and games. The group casually goes between practicing broad nib calligraphy with a brush, to writing Python in DrawBot, to researching their typeface for the revival project. Work (if you can call it that) is punctuated by games of foosball. My friends know I'm not a huge fan of games. Generally, I think competition brings out the worst in people, but I'm getting really into foosball! I am still one of the worst players, but I notice myself getting better, and playing more instinctively. Mostly I play goalie/fullback, but I've been trying to practice my forward as well. Perhaps you guys weren't expecting me to talk about foosball this much. It's a big part of my life right now.

On Mondays, we have our typeface revival project. The first class was cancelled due to an airplane or something.

On Tuesdays, we have broad nib calligraphy lessons with Peter Verheul.

On Wednesdays, we are using a program called DrawBot (which is why the gif above says “draw”) to learn python. It’s insanely fun.

It’s occurring to me now just how excited I will be when it’s time to come home. I won’t be home any time between now and a year from now. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

We’ve been working hard at school on a type installation project for an art festival. The guest professor leading the way isn’t a standard member of the type]media faculty, so in all honesty, we were a bit disappointed that we didn’t get to start working with our heroes right away. It’s a deconstructive workshop, and even the professor mentioned that it could have been better placed around the middle of the year. At any rate, we’re in it now, making the best of it. The sketch above was something the visiting professor shot down. He said it reminded him of ice cream or something. Oh well!

Easing the pain is a certain brand a delectable treats called Lekkerste. I showed the package to my friend Mark and said, “This brand makes the most delicious stuff!” He said, “That makes sense, because lekkerste means ‘delicious stuff.’” So far I’ve had the stroopwafel and the gevulde koek, and both are OFF DA CHAIN BB.

I quite enjoy being at school from around 10:00 to 6:00. The time goes by quite quickly, and though I don’t feel especially productive (group projects are difficult) I really like everyone I’m hanging out with, and I’m not at all lonely. [Sidenote: thanks to everyone who sent messages of encouragement. Sorry for being a big baby.]