Are non-Western cultures conversations peppered with trite, colloquial sayings?
Like, in Kapushi, Zambia (population: 26 people per mile) — does one friend say to another (in Kaonde) upon receiving news that their baby was trampled by antelope, “Everything happens for a reason”?
These condensed and optimistic phrases are woven into our chats and unless you are a hermit or deaf, we are all guaranteed to hear at least one per day.
Sometimes a man’s manliness must be recognized. Manly is a term often reserved for a lumberjack, firefighter, or bounty-hunter. A narrow and unfortunate caricature. Why not a goatherd? Or glass-blower? Or gemologist?
Anyman* that strides confidently into their chosen arena (office, field, arcade, classroom, rubber raft, bowling alley, butcher shop, grist mill) and owns it is, in my opinion, a beast.
Give them this small token: (They will grunt, nod, excuse themselves, and go into the bathroom to shed a single tear.)
*Did I make that up?
I’m talking about leap day. Don’t even bother trying to explain it to me, I don’t actually care. The important thing is that I milked one more day out of this prudish month.
Zeichen Press would be nothing without self-imposed deadlines (and cake) and our card-release was set for March 1.
It was a real pressure-cooker situation around here — and because I don’t have enough intensity in my life, I locked myself in the linen closet and reenacted Apollo 13’s return journey. Just me, my laptop, both cats, and toilet paper tubes. We got home safely, God Bless America.
Anyway, we can thank the ground crew (Kim & Fred) for jury-rigging up product photos:
There once was a Frenchman that could, and would, eat large objects. He ate them bit by bit and was able to digest bicycles, televisions, shopping carts, chandeliers, and even an airplane. This took patience and, reportedly, gallons of mineral oil.
Bit by bit.
This wasn’t some sort of performance art piece — he never meant for it to be a metaphor.
But he ate a plane.
Such deliberateness! I like to imagine that he carefully considered each piece as he pried it off and swallowed it.
Mister Eat All The Things (Monsieur Mangetout) could be an inspiring mascot for an economic philosophy.
I’ve been told that a printing press in the shop is just as good as three acres and a cow. We’ll see. WE’LL SEE.
Anyway, I made this card for the president of The Society of Distributism because he has a fancy book signing coming up — 150 lucky people will receive the card. Oh, and a signed book.
The Epilepsy Foundation needed a new look for their fleet of trucks and The Carney Group contacted me (via telepathy) to see if my brain was available to think of ideas. I’m not just a brain. Geez.
I rescheduled my ice-pick lobotomy and put on my thinking cap.
What if the trucks were bright red and had big white letters with a line like, THIS TRUCK CONTAINS TWO TONS OF HOPE??
Yes?
Okay.
Do I have to write the script myself? The script that tells the tale of an experiment gone horribly wrong — a pharmaceutical company hot on the heals of developing a drug that ends all pain and suffering forever??
The drug, nicknamed “Bozo” does so well in animal testing… So well, in fact, it is released to the general population of prison inmates.
Death row no longer feels like a death sentence, cold concrete cells feel like a day spa, “relationships” feel special.
Until… The unexpected “side effects” begin to develop… Oh, it’s too sick. Just imagine a zombie movie but replace the zombies with clowns.
Here’s a birthday card:
I wrapped myself in bacon yesterday for a phone interview with Mpls. St. Paul magazine.
I was, I’m sure, delicious.
She wanted to talk about the new book but I wanted to talk about the last episode of Long Island Medium.
She said she was too “busy” to talk about what I wanted to talk about. What? Too busy to care??
Moving on:
Zeichen Press found a new intern and she already promised to fold my laundry. I’ll give her this new card as soon as she puts my clothes away:
I live on a farm so I can swim through my gold coin-filled silos like Uncle Scrooge McDuck. My latest money-making scheme is sure to fill its very own silo: A downloadable collection of our cards turned cartoons!
I’ve requested that royalties be paid in gold doubloons.
Clip-clop-clip-clop… I watched her gracefully stroll down 28th Street. She, a 125 pound White Tailed Deer, came towards me on the sidewalk. Her head turned left and right, taking in the scenery like a tourist. I sat as still as a frightened rabbit, hoping she would mistake me for something non-threatening. The air was perfectly calm and the smoke from my cigarette rose straight into the sky. Oh, but she noticed me! We were locked in a staring contest for what felt like forever, and then she bounced away. Faster than I knew a deer could run, she bounded across Hennepin Avenue.
And a bear wandered up to a strip mall last week in Cottage Grove. I felt it should be commemorated.
It’s time to free ourselves from the shackles of this social networking monster.
We are ignorant prisoners, dragging our metal cups across the bars while our warden stuffs his fat face with naturally-cased wieners.
We are school children, wandering like Wii avatars, waiting for the bell to ring only to be called in to diagram sentences.
We are the Israelites crushed by our taskmasters, waiting for the supernatural smiting of the Egyptians.
Rise up, people. Stop rowing the slave ship. The candy tasted so good before we got in the van, but now we must be deprogrammed. Make no mistake about it — this is some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. Oh, the candy… so sweet, so forbidden, so Turkish-Delighty.
Damn you, Facebook!
I’ve flushed my precious time down the toilet. Time I’ll never get back. Just like the year I got hooked on Party of Five – those orphaned Salingers led by their gorgeous brother/carpenter, Matthew Fox…
Oh, but it’s done now. No point in looking back. Friend requests, status updates, profile pictures — word combinations unwittingly added to the English lexicon!
I’ve got a word for you: insidious.
Never has there been such a tool, such a divisive tool. It wears a party hat and mixes the strongest drinks, watching the party-goers behave like jackasses. Why?
Ask son-of-a-dentist/billionaire, Mark Zuckerberg. Mr. Zuckerberg was unavailable for comment during the writing of this, and it’s no wonder. He’s in Palo Alto, counting his drug money. I’m booking a flight to Palo Alto and am either going to personally punch him in the face or flatter him until he hires me as his “personal secretary.” The second scenario is obviously more lucrative. The point is, I will no longer be in this creepy symbiotic relationship.
I will be free. (cue the MLK footage)
Print shops are full of danger.
Hands mangled, digits lost, clothes torn right off of bodies… (I better fact-check that last one).
Zeichen Press is no exception.
Behold:
Look if you must. Sometimes it is better to face the painful, it desensitizes the mind.
That’s good, right?
Because I am so committed to my craft, I (by “I”, I mean “my son”) squished the spider, and finished laying out this card:
Mother’s Day is coming up but you don’t have to get your mom a card.
Three new rep groups this Spring.
THREE.
These new (lucky) states are: Virginia, West Virginia, Idaho, Montana, Alaska, and New Mexico. Each rep gets a box of goodies, packed by Jen:
I bet that’s a lot of work.
I wish I could help but I’m too busy watching Pam watch kittens on televison while I lay in bed.
I DID write/design some new cards — I’ve heard that laughing is as good for your body as eating so I plan to airdrop some new cards to the starving people in the world.
I’m sure they’ll be grateful. 
Has Science gone too far?
Days and nights blurred as the scientist toiled alone — well, not exactly alone — his companions (experiments) lived in a collection of cages. His laboratory (pronounced: lah-boooar-atory) was nestled between the Russkoe Slovo Bookshop and the hydro-electric plant in Krasnoyarsk.
His mission?
To create super-species. Behold his first success… and his new friend:
Well, congratulations Doctor Hvorostovsky!
And now on to my creations:
(not nearly as controversial)
But how can I be tame when I am thrust into such an atmosphere? 
I have only one thing to say:
That sounds delicious!
If Spring would come I wouldn’t be forced to sit here and email sell sheets to hundreds of newspapers around the country. 
I won’t complain about the weather because that’s about as interesting as listening to someone list their health problems. But I WILL say this:
If I lived in Hawaii, there’d be no Zeichen Press.
See, I can always find the blessing in disguise.
Oh fine, here’s a new card — inspired by the endless Winter:
The woman gazes through her window. A window covered in dog-drool, a window with a view of only one season: Winter. She stares, slack-jawed, at the slow parade of life.
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area we call the Twilight Zone.
SERIOUSLY?!?