Nobody warned me.
I can’t believe it…but nobody said a damned thing to me about the danger of typography addiction. There I was, innocently trying to create a cover design for an e-book. A babe in the woods, that’s what I was. A babe in the fucking woods. “Go download some fonts,” they said. “Try a little League Gothic. Have a taste of some Trajan. Go ahead, it’ll be okay.”
Do you know how many typefaces are out there? More than Carl Sagan could count. Do you know how many of them I downloaded? ALL OF THEM. I don’t know serif from Shinola, but I’ve probably got a typeface by that name. Right now I seem to be drawn to something called Astonished. Why? I have no fucking clue. I think because it looks like it was designed by somebody trying to scratch his way out of an abandoned refrigerator.
I’m exaggerating slightly. In truth, I’ve always been attracted by the idea of typography. I like the theory behind it. I’ve just never had to deal with the reality of it I suspect that after a few days I’ll develop some sense of discretion, of aesthetic discernment, some sideways control over my indiscriminate font-bingeing.
But right now, I’m just another sailor on shore leave, looking for a gypsy good time.