Design and Fonts and All that Jazzz...

Hey everyone!

So now that I've been here about 2 weeks and classes have started and I've seen most of what is really big in Aberdeen, I've started to get back to why I'm here. So I've begun asking myself Why am I here? What am I doing? What do I want to get out of this? Scotland and traveling and pubs and beaches aside, I'm here to learn all I can about Graphic Design in a semester, and apparently the fastest way of doing this is jumping straight into Year 3, with all those people who have been designing for 3 or 4 or 5 years. After arriving, I had found that I was enrolled in Year 3 Graphic Design, and apparently this means going to all the same classes with all the other 3rd years and doing everything all the other 3rd years do. So, I'm in a class with 22 other people, and am taking Corporate Design, Design for Multimedia, and Tools for Multimedia. At any rate, this week was hit off with a typefacing project, in which we researched a number of our favorite fonts and produced research posters, such as the following, depicting what we learned.


We then progressed to choosing our five favorite fonts from our selection, and creating pictoral postcards that emphasized their potentials and special characteristics.


Perpetua has a dignified, somewhat cold face with a feeling of authority... a chiseled quality characteristic of engraving... a noble, monumental appearance.


Myriad is professional, clean, and classy, and moreover, it is a typeface that naturally presents a warmth and readability resulting from its rounded curves and smooth transitions.


Interstate is the font we see on our road signs nearly everywhere, and so it presents us with a warmth of familiarity, and is a typeface glowing with clarity and conciseness.


The personality a typeface conveys may stem in large part from the ways in which that typeface has been used in the past, and Caslon has been known as the "script of kings" in the past, and was the official font for the US Declaration of Independence. It thus has a dignified and royal feel to it.


Aachen is heavy set, with every stroke wide cut legs and large feet. "If Aachen were a friend it would be a loud body guard."

Turns out, there's a lot more to fonts than one could have thought, and it's near impossible to learn everything about them in 3 days, which is all the time I've had. How is Baskerville different from Frutiger different from Linotype? How could two fonts that look nearly exactly the same, FF Kievet andMyriad, actually be different? What typefaces complement each other and can thus be used in design together? All kinds of questions have been rushing through my mind the last few days, and in my rush to find answers to them all, I've neglected other things, like eating, and ... sleeping, and ....... being a faithful blogger. No, I really have been eating and sleeping, and even have free time to join the mountaineering society and possibly the swim team.

So, I will leave you with a parting quote... "Type is emotional and situational. Just as you wouldn't laugh at a funeral... certain fonts are out of place in certain situations." And learning which fonts are humanist and sans serif as opposed to grotesque or slab serif is only the beginning.

Sincerely,
Your most faithful blogger, Amy

P.S. The rugby players over here are convinced American football players are "wusses" because they wear padding. Haha!

Snapshots

It's probably about time I posted some pictures with more of an explanation of where I am. So, here's a few snapshots of the last two weeks.

This is the Marischal Museum, home to the Anthropological Museum which houses a number of Egyptian and Classical antiques, and artefacts related to the history of Scotland. It's probably the most beautiful building in the city centre, but is in a state of mild disrepair right now, and it seems parts of it or the nearby complex may be scheduled for demolition.

This is a view down the main street in town, Union Street. It's lined with beautiful things and is the perfect place to go for a nice midafternoon stroll. Some people will eat their lunch in the graveyard a bit further along, but most of us just think they're a bit strange.

This is St. Peters Hall, where I am staying. There are about 200 students here, and of the three stories, the first is all boys, the middle is mixed, and the top is all girls. They keep the boys on the bottom in case any intruders break into the lower windows in the middle of the night. I'm staying with 3 girls and 3 guys, and of them, there are 3 scots, 1 Manchester girl, 1 Irish girl, and a Dutch guy. And everyone has a different accent.

Several blocks from my house, there is this grassy knoll, and a long dusty path winds up to the top of it. And from there, one can see this graveyard. It's gigantic, and really pretty. On the other side of the knoll, there is a theme park and Asda, which is Europe's Wal-Mart. Literally.

This is the beach. The beach is long; it stretches all up and down the coast, which basically means it is an entire side of Aberdeen and more. Just a few blocks from St. Peters, an asphalt path lets a girl indulge in her occasional run by the seashore, and if she's in a particularly adventurous mood, the sand below is fair game as well.

This is Aberdeen nightlife. 'nuff said.

This is Amy by the bagpipe guy, because yes, they really do wear kilts and play bagpipes in Scotland. In fact, apparently it is traditional for males to wear kilts to their high school proms, and it must reach to between an inch above the knee to halfway through it. Associated socks must also be worn precisely 2 inches below the knee. But don't make fun of the kilts! Getting fit for a kilt will usually run you in the range of $1000 to $2000, and most youth consider it a great honor to be gifted with one of their own.

And finally, here is Robert Gordon University at one of its three campuses, Garthdee. The latter picture is my building, in which students learn graphic design, digital media, and architecture, among other subjects. In Scotland, everyone refers to University as "uni" and pronounces "herb" with an h. Girls also walk around in massive flocks, and males and females are fairly segregated, for the most part. All the girls sat on one side of the room and all the boys on the other my first day. It was kind of amusing.

That's all for now! Hope you enjoyed!

A First Look

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

I’m writing this with pencil and paper as I sit in my new kitchen eating the first dinner I’ve cooked myself. The aroma of the chicken lies gently in the air, giving a smoky feel to the dimly lit kitchen, the last rays of sunlight flowing through the window and illuminating the dust particles floating aimlessly through the air. One single 40 Watt light bulb hangs from the ceiling. Cars rush by on the street below, and a horn blares somewhere, sending a chill running up my spine. There isn’t any music because my computer isn’t working. There aren’t any voices because there isn’t anyone else in the flat yet. Adulthood hits me like it hasn’t before.

It all started yesterday, my first full day in Aberdeen. I woke up early; couldn’t sleep. So I got out of bed, opened my window all the way, and leaned out. Europe must trust its youth more than we do, I thought. The windows weren’t suicide-proof. I breathed in the sharp morning air, smiling at the sight of blue sky and the thought of exploring the city, going to the beach, finding a phone card. Drawing myself back to my senses, I leaned back in and went to grab breakfast. My kitchen proudly contained a box of cereal, a pint of cranberry juice, two cucumbers, and a tray of chicken. I took some cereal and retreated to my room and my computer. It was 6 a.m.

After some time, I resolved it was time to fulfill my plans for the day. I grabbed my purse and a roughly pieced together map, and ventured out. The city was small, so people walked everywhere. My first stop was Castlegate. Pictures I had seen online had borne in me a desire to see it for myself, and I would have, had not at that very moment, I was diverted by a mild lack of direction and an absolute adoration for cobblestone paths. So, as fate would have it, I happened upon King’s College first. Gorgeous old brick buildings decorated the meticulously trimmed soft green lawns, and organ music reverberated through the air, as if it came from a distance.


I took a tour about the campus before getting back to the main road. The sky had begun to turn grey.
Upon finally reaching Castlegate, I was disappointed to find myself not surrounded by castles at all, but merely in a small square of granite. A gazebo-like structure, known as a Mercat Cross, sat in the middle. Reportedly, in the olden days, this was a place where merchants would gather, and later became the focal point of many town events such as executions, announcements, and proclamations (Wikipedia).



Now, there’s one thing to be said about Aberdeen. It’s small. A city of a mere 200,000 people, it centers around two main roads, Union Street and King Street. Each radiates outward from Castlegate, and nested between them reside a multitude of twisty roads, bustling alleyways, and the city centre. It’s remarkably easy to get lost, yet impossible to stay so for long. The city centre is home to a number of malls, a greater number of bars, and a crowd of young men and women wandering about, looking for any divine sign or hint of who they are amongst the colorful ads and newest fashions draped over the plastic window mannequins.
And while one might think that people like this…


And this…


Exist only to walk down runways and to decorate the pages of our favorite magazines, in the UK they may actually be found strolling down the streets and leaning against lampposts in the 10° night air. Especially with tights. The tights are a big thing over here.

So. Fashion aside, I was now at the main street in town, Union Street. It had started to rain, but it was still lovely. Here, people swarmed all about, and the old granite buildings gave the whole block a quaint feel. The rain left a slightly musky scent in the air. Everyone, young and old, minded their own business, rarely looking up to say hi or g’day to a stranger. I did my shopping and headed back. I’d been walking for nearly 4 hours by then, and was soaked from my failure to bring an umbrella.

That was when I succeeded in coming just short of completely destroying my computer. As I always do upon returning to my residence, I opened my laptop to check email, play music, and generally indulge in some relaxing form of time-wasting. As I hit the send button on my last email, however, a 404 error appeared, and I found myself completely deprived of my previously perfectly functional internet. As any good engineer would do, in panic I attempted to fix it on my own, checking the connection, my network settings, asking my neighbors, but after 20 minutes of failure, I succumbed to calling the internet company. The internet company couldn’t help, so I reverted to trying to fix it on my own. Finally, I found a field where I could assign my computer to a network, and with curiosity and desperation both clamoring for my attention, I assigned my computer to the network “WORKGROUP.” As I restarted my computer, little did I know that I had successfully locked myself out of my computer entirely.

The only thing to do when deprived of computer usage and anything to do while in Europe is to find a friend and go drinking. Over four glasses of red wine, Gronya and I discussed everything there was to discuss about life, all the way to the history of Ireland and how Bush had devastated the future of America.

The next day, I woke up at 9 a.m., feeling revitalized and determined to find a way to fix my computer. After a morning of conversing with RGU IT guys and failing to find any kind of answer, I shopped for food and clothes and everything in between until I was exhausted of that. Then I went for a much needed run to relieve the pounds of frustration and impending boredom. Lost in my thoughts and running aimlessly down the twisty roads, I soon found myself in lack of any idea of where I was or where I was going. Some two hours later, I finally got back, exhausted and starving. So I cooked myself dinner.

I eat every last piece of chicken, and then wash the dishes, making sure to put everything away and clean the counters. Then I make a mental note to buy a cutting board. As I get back to my room, I begin at last to unpack my suitcases and tidy up my room. There’s no music because my computer is still sitting on my desk, closed, and no voices because no one has moved in yet, and I feel a sudden wave of appreciation for the well stocked kitchen/dining hall that I’m usually around, the computer I can usually use, and the people that are usually around. Laughing, I decide that I’m probably going to live after all, and remember the fact that I’m really actually finally in Scotland.

P.S. For more pictures, because I'm too lazy to upload them all here, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/fireflyXOX.

Once Upon a Time...

She stared at him, through the barely open eyes and the lightly tinted shades. Smoke from the past gently entwined about her arm, swirling, whispering, as if to remind her about what she had done, and what she was about to do…

This is me. Dark and twisty or however that phrase works itself out. I figured this blog needed some sort of proper introduction, because there’s no starting a story, any kind of a story, without a really proper introduction – you know, one of those that gives the background and all the little details that you really didn’t need to know and takes up the first half of those books you were forced to read in high school literature.

She breathed in, once, deeply. Secrets were always so painful to keep.

Okay, I’m really kidding. That’s just a story. And a little Photoshop in some soon-to-be-nonexistent free time. This, is actually me, as I’m sure you all know.

And that, is a giant piece of kelp. It’s what girls who spend the summer constructing nuclear waste treatment plants and wandering Seattle’s seashores tend to more or less eventually develop a fascination with :).

Speaking of summer, summer was great, if unfathomably short. I spent it being a “field engineer” at one of the world’s largest engineering projects, one that attempts to immobilize all of Hanford’s liquid nuclear waste into glass. In the piping group, we install and inspect the pipes in each of the five facilities, and there are a lot of pipes. My free time was spent wandering the site in the blazing heat, discreetly watching the ironworkers install rebar from a shady spot afar, or catching a ride back to T1 in a golf cart, listening to stories about “the old days” when workers were allowed to tie on to cranes and swing around. Sometimes I would get the chance to see Louis and Punchy in the warehouse to ask about some business issue like flanges, or shelf life, and then listen to them talk about old music and records and the Beatles. "Good stuff," they say. Punchy calls everyone "wacko," except for Louis, whom he calls "el wacko."

Outside of construction, many days and nights were spent hearing tales of giant fish and the occasional “monster” caught by the fishermen of Dash Point, Seattle. The stories were always accompanied by the sound of the fervent waves crashing against the well-worn wooden pier.

So with all the introduction stuff aside, Scotland is what this blog is to be all about. And that, I am both tremendously excited and terrified for. I guess that's what they call anticipation. I have most of the details ironed out about as flat as I can get them, so I am positive I don't need a visa, I definitely have housing for even the first night I am there, I have transportation from the airport to my housing, and I have a list of places to go, among other things. But I’m still anxious. Against my adventurous judgment, I have settled on not traveling beyond Scotland my first week, because I can’t quite convince myself I won’t get kidnapped or mugged and end up utterly lost and without a plan of action. So, I won’t travel beyond Scotland my first week. Dark and twisty? Maybe just a little.