All you faithful Dispatch readers have undoubtedly noticed a
format change in the past week or so: this column used to just
sprawl across the top quarter of the page in unrestrained corpulent
indolence; now the words cascade in literary free-fall down the
left side like eighth-notes dropping through a clarinet.
All you faithful Dispatch readers have undoubtedly noticed a format change in the past week or so: this column used to just sprawl across the top quarter of the page in unrestrained corpulent indolence; now the words cascade in literary free-fall down the left side like eighth-notes dropping through a clarinet.
This is a big change for me, one that I’ll have to get used to. I hadn’t realized that the way I view my writing is influenced by the way it looks when it’s printed. I mean, I have on occasion been accused of being narrow-minded, but never narrow-written. Ah, but as they say, we can’t do anything about the weather, or in my case the cartographic representation of it there to the right in all it’s multichromatic magnificence, so I will learn to cope.
I must admit to a little locational trepidation, though; if that weather pattern out there toward Hawaii unbalances to the left and topples over on me I’ll be crushed, and soggy. I never had to worry about these things when I was safely on top of the page and nothing could fall on me but the words “SOUTH COUNTY” which aren’t large enough to cause more harm than lacerations and minor contusions. The things we scriveners have to put up with: first moveable type, now this.
For starters, it’s a good thing it’s not actually me here; I couldn’t fit. I haven’t been this thin since college. In fact, it feels positively claustrophobic, like participating in a sumo match in a spaghetti box – if it were any narrower I don’t think I could get a decently erudite multi-syllable word to fit entirely on one line. It turns out (I measured) that this column is precisely the width of the narrow side of a 2×4, so I’m trying to imagine memorializing my musings down the edge of a standard wall stud, and I now have an entirely new understanding of why so few of your major authors started out as carpenters. The layout does, however, encourage vertical thinking, and as soon as I figure out what that is, I’ll tell you.
Well, at least now I’m down near the bottom of the page, across from the bulletin of community activities on tap for tomorrow. I can’t quite see what they are – my peripheral vision isn’t that good any more – but maybe if I do a counter-clockwise half-turn I can get a look … damn, my right shoulder is caught on the left page margin. I gotta get to the gym and start working out. Does anybody know of a good gym around here that serves doughnuts? Or maybe stretching exercises; I’ve always wanted to be taller anyway, and it’s kind of a drag that from down here I can’t even see the top of my own column. Of course, I guess I could always write while wearing stilts.
Like I said, we serious journalists have always been willing to pay any price, bear any burden, and whatever those other things are that JFK said to practice our craft. This isn’t the first time I’ve appeared to be borderline, and it won’t be the last, so bear with me and I will strive to continue illuminating the highs and the lows, commenting on the winds of change, and suggesting when to get hot and when to chill.
Oh wait; that’s the weather map.
Robert Mitchell practices law in Morgan Hill. His column has appeared in The Dispatch for more than 20 years. It’s published every Tuesday.
