I love fonts. And graphic design. I love discovering new fonts and new ways to graphically convey a message. I look for such work everywhere I go.

So you can understand why I’m perplexed about MTV.

Yes, MTV. Music Television. Remember the first, bubbly logo they used? With the “TV” looking like it was painted by a can of spray paint?

I was flipping through my channels this weekend and stopped at an MTV video.

It’s no secret MTV does some crazy stuff with graphic design. But why, dear readers, has MTV never changed the font it uses to ID the music videos it plays? It’s looks like a bolded Arial font on ‘roids.

Not that I’m complaining, but what’s the theory behind this? MTV is the master at the evolving evolution of its appearance. Why stick with the same font year after year?

I debated whether to write about the following, but it’s too bizarre and awkward to ignore and leave inside my brain.

As many of you know, my beloved grandma, Dorothy Townley, passed away earlier this month. We hosted the wake service on a Wednesday night, with the funeral, graveside service and luncheon the next Thursday.

My sister and I, along with several other members of our immediate family, anticipated more than just a handful of uncomfortable moments.

The reason?

My dad recently went through his second divorce, the first having been in 1987 with my mom.

There was no question my mom would attend all the funeral services, and we were fairly certain my dad’s second wife would be there.

But we all were extremely surprised to see my dad’s new girlfriend at each and every ceremony of the funeral service. And unfortunately, several of those who came to grieve and celebrate my late grandma’s life were surprised and, I would say, left feeling rather uncomfortable.

At the wake service, there was a definite triangle of people: those who spoke with my mom, those who spoke with my dad’s second wife and those who spoke with my dad and his girlfriend. I don’t know that all three women have been in the same room — or even the same part of town — before that night.

The Bermuda Triangle has nothing on this family.

The case of Bud Light in the back room at the funeral home helped eased matters, but the whole evening felt so damn weird. I see now that it was difficult to grieve for my grandma while so much drama going on around me.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. And, perhaps, I’ve finally found something to turn into a book.

“On our journey to find wholeness we often encounter relationships that show us our fractured selves. A fractured part of the whole does not have access to all the resources necessary for this journey. Attempting to heal any part of the whole must come from unity of all the selves.

The three steps for this process are:

(1) Get clarity on what you want.

(2) Focus your thoughts and feelings on that.

(3) Manifest your desired outcome.”

— Sue Moon of the Morning Star Center

I really shouldn’t be surprised that it happened.

Earlier today, I decided to take in the sunshine, an iced turtle latte and some reading at Aroma’s, one of my favorite coffeehouses in Omaha. It’s in the Old Market, so I’m always certain to witness an entertaining array of characters during any given visit.

While sitting on the front patio, reading “Wolves of the Calla” by Stephen King, I overheard a young man discuss Jesus, Islam, Warren Buffet and marriage ceremonies with his female companion. The young man wore a cowboy hat, a T-shirt with some ironic phrase (the likes of which I cannot recall), cargo pants and Nike sandals while intermittently taking drags on a cigarette.

I set down my rather large book to page through the latest issue of Spin when the young man approached my table.

I could see him approach in my peripheral vision, but chose not to divert my bespectacled eyes in his direction. However, he opened with, “I couldn’t help but notice that tome you’re reading. That must be awfully heavy to carry around.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said. “The book is so good, it’s worth the weight.”

He went on to tell me about other books he’s reading.

I listened, nodded, occasionally directing my eyes down to the magazine in my lap, hoping he’d get the signal that I didn’t feel like talking.

After a few awkward pauses, he said, “I appreciate the necklace. I’m JW.”

(He was, of course, referring to my Wendy necklace, which I forgot I was wearing.)

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and smiled.

Awkward pause. Awkward pause. Awkward pause.

I smiled again, and he walked away.

Note to self: Remember the necklace is visible at all times and may give young men the push they need to make an introduction.

May I be the first to introduce you to a new local band, Matt’s Rocket Collection.

I invite — nay, demand — you to visit the band’s My Space page to learn more about these talented local musicians and listen to their single, “Touch It Taste It Love It.”

The band plays a kick-ass cover of John Denver’s “Leaving On A Jet Plane” that’s anything but sappy.

Enjoy.

Is it true MC Hammer is “blessing” us with a forthcoming album? I thought I saw something in the iTunes Music Store about that.

Egad.

{I can’t decide whether this image amuses me or nauseates me. Perhaps both.}

Cox Communications hosted a visit by the C-SPAN School Bus Thursday afternoon in downtown Omaha.

Here’s a group photo taken Thursday during a break in bus visitors. From left: Stephanie Green, C-SPAN; Libbie Holmes, Cox; Kelly Sare, Cox; yours truly (with a White Chocolate Mocha from the Starbucks across the street).

See Tanner Tuttle at Macworld San Francisco in 2001.

{More importantly, see Tanner’s first short film, “Friendship Bread.”}

Question: Should I be concerned with the small puddle of water that has developed under and around the hot water heater in my basement?

On Friday, Cox Communications hosted a VIP tent for area government officials near Rosenblatt Stadium for the 2006 College World Series.

In addition to serving lunch to our guests, we gave them two tickets to the 1 p.m. game on Friday.

We had unused tickets after our event, purchased for those who didn’t attend. Following a brilliant idea from my coworker, Mark, I headed north on 13th Street and started giving away tickets to random strangers.

I sought out small groups of young boys (those between 12 and 16 years old). When I offered the tickets, for free, the grins and excitement on their faces was thanks enough. It was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful feeling to give these kids the ultimate College World Series experience for free. That act alone made my week.