dear you

It’s been too long – how are you? And how are things out west? I hope that all is well. Life is about the same for me. Nothing’s changed all that much – still staying up too late and waking up too early – still eating a bit too much and not exercising quite enough.

To say the truth, though, I have been a bit more upset than usual. Not quite myself – a little more tense and anxious. A little more insecure, maybe. Or uncertain. It’s just that – and please don’t be angry with me for what I’m about to say – it’s just that I don’t know where we stand anymore. We had a relationship once – a healthy, affirming, energizing relationship – one that may now be going nowhere. I feel that we’re at an impasse, and I don’t know if things will ever be – or can ever be – the same again.

I fear that you must take me for granted now. But it wasn’t always like this. I remember when you used to send me little surprises in the mail – your spring 1997 Type Guide, for example. And though your message was oddly redundant throughout – abcdEFGH&123 – I pored over it and never tired of reading it. To this day, I’ve kept it in a little red file that I’ve simply labeled, “Adobe.”

But a short time later – and inexplicably – you began to charge for your missives; and I paid, of course. I was in too deep at that point; I must have fallen under your spell, I guess. Besides, twenty-five dollars didn’t seem like all that much. But when I think about it now – that I had to give you money up front to afford myself the opportunity to spend even more on you – well, that’s when the tide began to turn. What’s worse is that, though your messages grew longer, and were printed on finer paper, they retained that eerie internal repetitiveness: “Letters have tone, timbre, character...,” you wrote. (I thought you were such a poet!) But it was only upon finding that these words weren’t even your own (you had apparently lifted them from some other guy named “Robert”) that I began to wonder if you had ever loved me – or if you were just using me.

Did you ever love me? Did you? I can think of times when you gave in remarkable ways and then took away (multiple masters). And I so clearly recall you “reinventing” yourself to serve me better – something about OpenType – and how you treated me afterwards. I remember your strange words: “No upgrades.” Why did you heap such cruelties on me? It was as though I had to get to know you all over again. And so I did; or at least I tried.

Don’t get me wrong – you really were – and are – the best. That sweet little a of yours (in your Garamond) is perfection. And your color, your body clearance – your many arms, legs, ears, and even tails – are all anatomical marvels. Do you remember how I’d set you down on the page and we’d just wonder at the multiple f ligatures we could achieve together? And how sometimes, we’d try it old-style, just to bring back fond memories? You gave really good product, but what I had to go through to get it!

I just wish that life could be as simple again... In the past, the only thing that stood between you and me was my Type on Call CD. But then you began to use some sort of Download Manager – an unwelcome, omnipresent chaperone – whose presence you required for each of our exchanges. And now you’ve gone and overhauled your Basics package in an attempt, I suppose, to hook me on what I’ve already paid for – but at a much lower price. I can’t help but feel as though I’ve been kicked in the ass a hundred times, only to hear you exclaim afterwards, “Oh, so sorry, love – I only meant to do that once.”

And so you continue to tease me, to laugh at me – as you perhaps always have. There are others out there, you realize, who don’t engage in these games, who freely send me their letters, who play it straight. Is it too late for you to change? Please try – for me – okay? We’ve had some really good times, and I don’t want to believe it’s all over – not just yet, anyway. Think about it.

Love,
Me

06-September 2003