I’m not sure if it’s a stencil or not, but either way, it’s impressive. Hicks Street, Brooklyn

If there’s one thing I love, it’s history. For me, understanding history helps me feel grounded in the present and part of the larger picture as a whole. Now,  I’ve also been known to stop by a bar now and again. Combine the two and it’s pretty hard for me to resist. Couple these two with a unique story of typography and I’m a moth to the flame.

In New York, there’s no shortage of history and as you might imagine, there’s no shortage of historic bars. Some I’ve been to, some are still on my list. This is about one historic bar that also has a little typographic novelty.

New Yorker’s are resilient (as you might imagine) and have always been that way. The Ear Inn was built in 1817. The long and sordid tale of it’s decades as an unnamed sailor’s haunt perched on the edge of the Hudson River are better left for other times and better historians, but I do want to talk about it’s sign.

It’s sign, you see, is magnificent. It exemplifies both the resilient nature of New Yorkers and a wonderful grasp of typography.

In 1977 when new owners took over the bar, they were faced with two problems. The first? They had to actually name the bar. You see, it had mostly just been known as “bar” or “the Green Door” by the old sailors. And the second? The Landmark Commission. That’s one of the downsides of being historic. You’re protected from the vagaries of progress and as part of the deal you have to remain, well, historic. The Ear Inn had for many many years simply had a neon sign out front stating plainly, “bar”.  Removing or replacing the sign would mean going before the Landmark Commission which in it’s infinite wisdom works at a glacial pace.

As for the name, they decided to name it after the music magazine that inhabited the second floor. As for the sign, this is where the story gets creative. The solution? Just paint over the parts of the “B” in bar to create a sign that reads, “Ear”. True inspiration. Not many folks (outside of those who love typography) would look at the letter “B” and see the “E” hiding inside.

Of course, the Ear Inn can’t avoid progress completely – last time I visited, I spoke with a couple of old timers over some whiskey who were lamenting the fact that many of the regulars were dying off. They were worried not only about their friends and their own future, but what would become of the Ear Inn. A new condo has been built next door (which might help keep the Ear Inn standing upright) and the neighborhood is being gentrified.

Apparently, New York City is losing the war against…rats. With budget cuts on the horizon, officials are worried that the rats will gain the upper hand.

At least the city managed to get this one. I found it in Red Hook two weeks ago. Of course, it could have died of old age. How would I know?

As an aside, Archie (luckily) took no interest in the rat.

UPDATE: No sooner had I posted this than I had another personal encounter with a rat. On my way home, I was standing on the subway platform when a girl screamed and lo and behold a large rat ran down the length of the platform as people jumped out of the way. Now, I’ve seen rats on the tracks before, but never on the platform itself. It brings to mind this video of a rat riding the rails — inside a subway car. Might be time to start carrying a sharp stick on the subway.

On a recent visit to Hearst Castle I discovered  that the man who built a newspaper empire had a predilection for ancient typography — and expressed it in an unusual manner. He (or his architect Julia Morgan) had vellum sheets from Gregorian chants made into lampshades. These lamps adorned not only his private office, but his bedroom as well — basically his entire inner sanctum.

As an admirer of both history and typography, I couldn’t resist taking a few photos. I’m sure the pages were extraordinary in their original form. The subject of why they were turned into lampshades in the first place is a discussion for another time.

You be the judge.

Archie relaxes in the Southern California sun.

Found: Brooklyn, Near Piers, November 2010

I saw this the other day and despite walking by it all the time, the absurdity finally struck me.

It’s one thing to misplace the period on an abbreviation. It’s another to do it twice.

And the odds of doing it twice made me think of two things:

1. Maybe the periods are not misplaced but merely being used as some sort of divider
2. Perhaps the writer is dyslexic and swapped the periods without even realizing.

In the first case, the writer is choosing style over meaning — a mistake in most cases and especially when working in signage.

In the second case, I just think you should double and triple check something before you write it two feet high on the side of building. But heck, that’s just the designer in me.