Serif Seraphim

poq does not presume to doubt the learned and wise ways of this blog’s many readers, but circumstances have revealed a widespread ignorance which calls by its very existence for a vigorous crusade to dispell it ‘lest society itself fall in flames and ashes.  Therefore, poq is taking up the burden itself of answering this serious, nay, critical question: just what are serifs?!

Many readers may have heard the word from MS Word, which offers many fonts ’sans serif’.  Readers, do not assume this language to be the mere linguistic up-marketing of a font; it is not like a restaurant offering uncooked pasta as ‘al dente’ or a realtor selling you a 5-foot room as ‘cozy’.  No, it has a specific meaning in the rarified world of the font:  serifs are the little bendy bits and curlicues at the edges of the letters, which are there to ‘enhance readability’, as if painted on by helpful little angels (or children in Vietnam).

You have Steve Jobs himself to thank for this impressively obscure optional feature of Office programs, since he did typography at Stanford whilst bumming around people’s floors in his ‘only a poor student’ days.

Now wasn’t it good to learn that?  Now go make one yourself.

Alliteration for the Angry

poq proudly, poetically and pretentiously presents:

Alliteration Attack!

The theme that the thespians thrive on.

Coupons for Croutons

As poq muses on possible new names for the Brunch Bowl (a competition is running until July 4th to rename it, and whom-so-ever does so successfully will get a week of free coupons to eat there – five days of soggy chips!), poq is also musing on the vagaries of English weather.

Wimbledon is (with the exception of last year) generally seen as a sunny place, in which great quantities of strawberries and cream are consumed every year.

Glastonbury is generally seen as a muddy place, in which great quantities of tents and clothing are disposed of every year.

How can this be!?  They are always at the same time!

Guilt for the Greedy

“I want a balloon,” she cried, and what mother could possibly say no?  It was blue, deep as the sea.  They wrapped the string around her hand and it went up above her head like an angel. But the little girl wasn’t content.

“I want a balloon,” she cried, and her mother had not the heart to say no.  It was red, shiny as an apple.  They wrapped the string around her hand and it tangled with the other and went up like a second angel.  But the little girl wasn’t content.  What worked twice…

“I want a balloon,” she cried, and her mother had not the head to say no.  It was green, bright as grass.  It rose up with the others and they came together like rainbow threads in a tapestry, and the little girl was

pulled up into space to meet the Russians without a spacesuit.

The Arte of Tennis

It is a most ennobling arte, whereupon both gentle Men and their Wyves may chuse to spend a day in revelerie and repose by chaenging turnes upon the Square of Greene Grasse (or Polyshed Wood), where no floures are allowed groowe, in ourder that the tournament is unbouthered by Nature’s puckish trycksters.  To comence, a balle of

hogge’s bladder, a fishe nette and two oake wooden racquets must be gaethered by the assystaents.

This newest arte is fulle of utmost Graece and Couraege, and I humblie begge you alle to try it soone.

How Big Is the Internet?

Nobody knows.  Few care.  Go ahead, guess an answer.

A map of a vanishingly small bit of the Internet.

Well, you’re wrong.  Its bigger than that.  In 2003, scientists at Berkeley officially classified the Internet as ‘ridiculously mega-super insanely no-way-it-can’t-be-that-big’ sized.  Since then, it has become too big to measure.

Google has probably found more of it than anybody else – they no longer tell us how many pages are in their database, but it is well over 3 trillion – and yet the odds are that Google has found less than ten percent.  And the Internet doubles in size more frequently than once per year.

poq laments the effect on the practice of Googlewhacking.  It is much harder to do now.  “Titillating cheesemonger” is no longer a succesful Googlewhack.  Nor is “solipsistic homunculous”.

A Desert of Miso

No, not a dessert.

I mean a desert.

Yes, a desert.

poq was passing innocently by a shop which sold miso, and was temporarily thrown into a state of advertising-induced confusion by the alluring scent of the miso soups they offered.  So poq ordered one and tried to drink it outside, only to be driven to hallucination by the combination of the rising miso-fumes (like petrol-fumes, only tastier) and the heat of the day, which lead poq to imagine poq in the Western Sahara, with only a pot of camel piss to keep poq going.

Needless to say, for lunch, this was an unnecessarily traumatic experience.

Incidentally, if you are out in the desert and desperately need water to avoid a dessicated death, poq suggests that – no matter what – you don’t drink the camel piss.  This is because camels are especially good at conserving water (they do, after all, live in deserts), and what they release is tragically lacking the life-giving liquid you were searching for.

What I Have Seen

Over a bridge, to

a tunnel of metal, and up to the roof where

a boat paddles, and beside it

a bubble.

Google Doodles: Goodles

poq has always been impressed by the understated eloquence inherent in the Google logo.  It is bright, cheerful, and always colourful.  poq is also an increasingly devout fan of Dennis Hwang, the creator of the so-called Google Doodle.  Google has enshrined a museum in honour of his work.  poq encourages you to go visit it.

And an interesting excerpt from Wikipedia:

“Google was criticized in 2007 for not featuring versions of the Google logo for American patriotic holidays such as Memorial Day and Veterans Day. That year, Google featured a logo commemorating Veterans Day.^“

poq!