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Because the original sign would look so much better in Helvetica? What a cunt.

DIETROLOGY 9

DIETROLOGY 
The Anatomy Of A Response

I was wondering about what to write. Swithering between yet another rant against Helvetica Culture; against idiotic mixed capitalisation in song, movie and book titles; or else taking a deserved swipe at the bokeworthy new mustn't haves known as jeggings.

Or indeed another admiring update on the Somali pirates.

It's all a bit obsessive. As if it were enough to be merely obsessed. As if that were sufficient explanation, as if that's just how something is.

But when you stop and ask yourself the question what is it about the thing you obsess over that creates that special intense response, you have to search deep down for some kind of answer that isn't just a rewording of the obsession, or a glib legitimising I-think superstition. Not in order to justify or rationalise, not to be right or wrong. But to fulfil a curiosity about what lies behind: transparent concessions that are clearly in operation with this and other strong emotional responses.

Once again things are not what they seem.

obsession
obsession begins with the identification of a symbolic representation of an unconscious value we always held - once identified, the symbols start appearing everywhere because we're now actively looking for them; these values lie hidden behind the illusion of identity, which is why they're so difficult to express in words

disappointment
linguistically speaking, we become disappointed in or with an exernal someone or something, as if it were outside our control, and likewise we experience it as if we were passive agents; in fact, disappointment can only be something we've personally planned for through a set of expectations that fail to be fulfilled

impulsiveness
what appears to be impulsive (like a purchase, or a kiss, or saying the wrong thing, or a punch) is in fact illusory: it is planned unconsciously by us well in advance of its happening - its apparent suddenness is the moment of entering an unprepared conscious awareness

attraction
in language we refer to being attracted towards someone or something, as if it were an active process - however, unlike disappointment, attraction is something that happens to us, passively; it's a process in which we have no choice despite the illusion that we are somehow active participants

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EXPOSITION 3

It's as if Glasgow's Kelvingrove Museum's 'curators' have been handed a big slice of the outrageous council tax paid by its citizens only to go on a massive speedball 'n' Smirnoff all-weekender before deciding how their venerable establishment can be jazzed up.

It's not enough that Glasgow's councillors allowed this fine city to be cleft asunder by a filthy great motorway, before letting the dreaded Design Squad in at astronomical cost to make it a laughing stock with slogans such as Prestwick Airport's 'Pure Dead Brilliant' (accompanied by the cartoon drunk) and other repeatedly naff and pointless rebranding iterations.

Anyway, back to Kelvingrove. It was a consolation visit a couple of weeks ago after disappointingly finding the Hunterian Museum at Glasgow University closed at the weekend for repairs.

The entire museum and gallery, set in an impressive building located in beautiful downtown central parkland, has been converted into the biggest tackiest kids' play park ever conceived. You'll think I'm exaggerating again: trust me I'm not. This time it's far more than even the usual unholy riot of Helvetica, stoopid discovery areas, interactive screenery, huge purple banners and other redundant signage, or the dysfunctional ambient lighting.

They've lowered all the paintings to somewhere around waist height and added mindnumbingly condescending descriptions along the lines of 'can you spot the crow in the tree? do you know what a 'halo' is?' - spelling and grammatical inconsistencies galore. Some of the randomly-distributed paintings are even surrounded by graphics and gaudy text boxes and coloured captions with their own individual lighting, all but making the picture itself invisible. Other exhibits actually have special children's crawl spaces incorporated underneath. The gift shop sells nothing but tacky cuddly toys, Scottish souvenir tat, and bubble-blowing liquid - no books, no prints, and but a handful of postcards.










See, kids don't give a fuck about Dalí or Matisse or Goya or transgender politics or global warming. They just want to play. I respect that. Give them what they want: a fantastic genuine new play park or take them to McDonald's for a Happy Meal.

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This is becoming a bit of an obsession, isn't it? Quite right. Anyway, you'd think Chinese restaurants would be immune to the lazy sterility of Helvetica Culture. Oh no. Not even an super extra helping of monosodium glutamate in your mixed veg fried rice will arouse your tragically numbed apathetic tastebuds.

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An introduction to Helvetica cuisine...

Yay, it's Wednesday and it's Steak O'Clock! Presumably the word 'large' is the one blacked out... boo hiss.




'You didn't bring your Privilege Card? I'm sorry, sir, all food is 2-4-1 between 2pm-6pm every day only in possession of said card.'







'Homemade' fish finger sandwich, anyone? Accompanied with the beer battered onion rings perhaps? How about the chili & chocolate burger? Or the highly uncommended Revolution vodka pizza?

One can only guess how excessive the bill was for the design of this horrendous helvetica'd menu; consistent punctuation and correct use of apostrophes clearly come at an unaffordable premium.

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You know when something's pointed out to you for the first time, you suddenly start seeing examples everywhere that used to go unnoticed? Or at least in your conscious mind. See, ever since I watched that damned documentary Helvetica, a cursed lucidity has been bestowed. (And another welcome opportunity for me to have a rant.)

So it was the same upon learning of the underhand techniques of major UK supermarkets. One aspect in particular: the fact they're all just big fucking refrigerators - essentially to maintain the fresh-looking appearance of the fruit and veg, which can be up to 12 months old and therefore about as non-nutritious as all the other overpriced multinational mass-produced convenience crap that fill their sorry shelves. Even in a state of ravenous hunger, I can now wander around Tesco's for hours with my will to stay alive through voluntary oral sustenance ebbing away at an alarming rate.

Anyway, back to the horrors of Helvetica Culture. It first became noticeable during the recent trip to the London museums, in particular the wretched Natural History Museum and much of the Science Museum. Things took a further turn for the worse once the full extent of the plague became apparent in eating and drinking establishments. You really do start seeing this typeface everywhere, especially on menus and pricelists. And, truth be told, it's not that I have an issue with the font's creators and its venerable origins; it's the subtext of its usage that's the problem: proprietors paying big bucks to bring in the design squad zealots. The triumph of style over substance. Looks over taste.

Except that, as far as I'm concerned, and just as with people, without substance and taste you ain't got no style. So when a bistro, gastro-pub, or café, uses Helvetica as a menu or logo font, you just know that the food is going to have about as much flavour as your semi-reheated cardboard croissant on British Airways, and that's if you can even generate some kind of appetite for it in the first place. Ready for your yummy watery microwaved pasta penne freshly slit open from its plastic pouch, or did you go for the 'Mexican' chili? Didn't think so. Problem is, if you're like me, you've suddenly gone and excluded yourself from 90% of the UK's eateries.

To extend this convenient metaphor, the designer's job is to neatly and competently lay the cutlery and glassware on the table before the diners arrive. That's it. That's the extent of their importance.