I am not Helvetica

Following is an essay I wrote this summer and read at a reading:

I am not Helvetica. But my laptop thinks I am. My Macbook, if I’m being precise. It’s new. Semi new. Well, it’s five months old. But it doesn’t know me yet. It knows me a bit. The desktop picture is mine. The alert sounds are the sounds I chose. It tells me when I have new mail and knows to open my gmail with firefox. It knows what songs I play the most in iTunes. Tied for first are Colin Hay and The Postal Service. Second place is Neil Diamond. Only my Macbook knows this.
It knows my passwords, my online bank account, my web search history. When I begin to type in C - A - L, it offers up Calvin Marty. My new favorite musician and not so secret crush. It knows these things. And yet, when I open a document and begin to type, it starts in Helvetica.

I don’t know why Helvetica. Helvetica is a close suburb of Arial. It has the same shape to it’s A’s. The contemporary lack of pageantry with a stiffness. The letters straight, tight. Less foolishness, more content.

At one time I used Arial. Only Arial. Always. For everything. But somehow, at some point, I became Georgia. I don’t remember why or what prompted the change. But I do remember actively making the choice at some middle point of graduate school. A story had survived most of a semester and countless drafts in Arial. Then between advising appointments or before a workshop, it evolved into Georgia. And continued on as such through more drafts until my thesis.

Georgia, at times, was problematic. It was not as ubiquitous as other fonts. Not quite Mac compatible. Many of my professors and classmates had Macs and all the computers in the writing lounge (save one sad neglected PC) were Macs. When emailing something to my advisor, I would have to save a different draft in a different font. Usually Times New Roman, which is similar to Georgia. But Georgia is fuller, less ordinary. My copy was always Georgia.

My old laptop was an IBM. A thinkpad. It didn’t do much thinking, towards the end it did more crashing than anything. I’d had it for four years. Compared to the rapid shrinking of newer laptops, it felt heavier and clunkier over time. One day it just gave up. It simply never turned on again. Not even an attempted whirl from the fan, no blink of light. Just coldness. A black brick sitting on my coffee table.

I now have a Macbook. Light. Girly. A clean fresh white color. Hipster and cool. Fun. I like it. A lot. Friendly, easier. Modern. A Mac. But still, it doesn’t know me yet.

When I open new documents, it starts out in Helvetica. I type a sentence, maybe two. An inspired, I’m a writer-on-the-cusp-of-greatness feeling buzzing at my fingertips, except the letters in front of me are tall, straight, tight letters. Helvetica. I try to keep writing. The words don’t look like my words. My brilliance has to pause. My creative writerly flow halted when I have to change the font to Georgia.

I have tried to make Georgia the default font. But this laptop, this Macbook, it loves itself some Helvetica. Maybe it will always feel new. Maybe it will never completely know me. Or maybe it will some day. But, by then, will I have switched again? No longer Arial, no longer Georgia, could I possible become Palatino?