The intern packed up her carpetbag and rode away. I felt like we should hug but we didn’t – hugs are best left out of print shops. She made this before she left:
Go, my young grasshopper, go and use the life-skills I so generously shared with you.
I regret not jumping into Lake Superior last week. I’m kidding, I don’t regret that. I regret not pushing that weird guy into Lake Superior last week. He was yelling, “the effing dog ate my pills! The effing dog ate my pills!” That poor wiener dog was trying to end its own sad life. Anyway, here’s a photo of Lucy and Jenny braving the frigid waters:
Lake Superior is the poor man’s ocean, just like my Reprex
(notice the vice grips)
is the poor man’s Vandercook.
But I must make do.
I must make do because that’s how I was programmed. The project du jour is a print involving lots of words. And because I’m a daredevil, I decided to lock up the type in a vertical formation. This is not for the faint of heart. The type and I both felt creepy when it was over and now we can’t even make eye contact.
The third instructional video is complete for the Jelly Shot Test Kitchen. If only children could drink alcohol these would be perfect for a Summer birthday party.
I have noticed that a lot of people around me have “plans” and “schedules.” That is something I’ve always wanted. Even my days of “working outside of the home” seemed haphazardous. I never knew if or how I’d get to work – would it be the city bus? My friend’s pick-up truck? A ride from a stranger? On foot? A police escort? Would I be able to pull-off a cup of coffee before work? Everyone talked about that – the coffee. “Whew, I barely had time for my coffee this morning, the dog just wouldn’t do his business!” They had coffee pots with timers – they’d wake up to the smell and sound of a fresh brewing pot. They’d fill their travel mugs and commute to work.
Why couldn’t I be like these people?
My snooze button (invented by the devil) would be pushed at least twice, granting me temporary amnesty – more time to dream about using inappropriately located toilets. A shower could happen but more than likely would not. Teeth brushed just in time to smoke a cigarette and tie my son’s shoes.
I know what you’re thinking: Glamorous.
A few weeks ago, I started doing the unthinkable: Waking up early and not forcing myself to fall back to sleep.
I actually get out of bed.
I get out of bed, make a smoothie filled with micro-nutrients and whole-food concentrate and go for a bike ride. It seems that other people DO THIS TOO. The paths are full of “others.”
I haven’t decided if I hate myself for being one of these people. Time will tell.
Anyway, number 7 of the Shea 8 will be getting married this Summer and she needed a program – I gladly volunteered and these were created yesterday:
They will contain a disc of music from the ceremony. Understated and cool. Just like my sister. Notice my crummy thumbnail in the upper-left.
(why is she so angry all the time??) is getting married this weekend and I designed/Jen printed some invitations for the blessed event.
The event will be very celebrity-heavy. By “celebrity” I mean “family.” It will be full of family. You can crash the wedding if you want – but no pictures. Just kidding. Take pictures – I can’t stop you.
Pat Carney stumbled into our dimension on Friday for the Gute photo shoot.
Edmund made latte after latte while Loretta babbled in the background. We think she was talking about Pam the kitten/her prisoner. Anyway, I had to punch Pat in the face to get one latte away from him for a prop. He took it like a man. Except for the tears.
There were two parts to the Freak Show – two tents – one contained The Fat Lady and the other was filled with the usual freakish-fare. I didn’t really want to pay to see the Fat Lady so I poked my head under the tent – it seemed silly to pay to see a fat lady but this was before the days of google searches and voyeuristic television masquerading as health and human interest stories. Before the days of shows actually called, World’s Fattest Woman.
So I poked my head under the tent. A pit had been dug in the dirt in the center of the tent – she, all 600 pounds of her, sat in the pit in a teeny weeny bikini. The paying public stared and stared while she thumbed through the pages of a paperback.
The other tent promised a variety of oddities and I handed my tickets to the dusty man guarding the flap-door. In this tent there was a stage and on the stage there was a sign and on the sign were the words, “World’s Fattest Man”
The crowd – and I was in the crowd now – stared at the sign and waited for the man. He hobbled out using two canes – those canes that have the four baby canes on the bottom. He reached the center of the stage and lowered himself into a reinforced chair, spoke to the crowd about his thyroid disorder, and asked if we wanted to see him attach a bucket of bolts to his tongue.
Ugh. I wanted my tickets back.
Why can’t things be the way they’re supposed to be? And why can’t freaks just enjoy their exploitation? If I were a freak (if) I’d love it. I’d use my freakish power for the good of mankind.
I’d love to have one super long arm. A Super Arm. I could take seemingly candid pictures of myself even more easily!
Do you see that?
It’s like someone else is taking the picture. But what a struggle!
It’s not like I’m obsessed with shades of gray because of this project I’m working on. I don’t get obsessed. I wasn’t obsessed with pulling out (and counting) all of the dandelions in my front yard (689). I wasn’t. I also wasn’t obsessed with collecting and transporting rocks halfway across the country to surround my little tree.
We had a special guest for TWO WHOLE WEEKS! : The Swine Flu aka:H1N1 That’s just what we needed to shake things up around here! Oh, and nothing brings a family together like contagious disease. I mean it. I barely notice my kids unless their eyes get glassy and they vomit on my bedroom floor. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, a nosebleed will get my attention -and so will a 2 am phone call from the Edina Police. Oh, kids!
I heard that “scientists” are working on some sort of “immunization” for this particular version of the flu. They can just inject themselves with their magic potion. I’m not standing in line at the Walgreens with a bunch of clammy people. Anyway, I discovered the cure: 100 episodes of Malcom in the Middle and lots of popsicles. When The Plague finally, and politely, exited our home – I felt that I needed another challenge:
The Fish Pond at St. Helena’s:
Of course! Everyone knows what a daredevil I am – I just couldn’t say no to Jen’s (repeated) requests to “volunteer.” I don’t regret a moment. In fact, I’m pretty sure that my time in Purgatory is reduced by exactly the same amount of hours that I spent in that claustrophobic booth. That’s five hours, God. Should I go on and on about the ROOM & BOARD project I’m working on? 21 down, only 279 to go! I love you, grayish-brownish-not-quite-taupe-ish-sort-of-smog-ish ink.
Vomit blood for a week or have a nail gun misfire so that the nail pierces your eyeball?*
WHICH ONE DO YOU CHOOSE?!
Maybe I’d choose the vomiting… I hear the ICU is like staying in a fancy hotel. You see? Life is about choices. Or wait… is it about rolling with the punches? Having your eye sewn shut is worse than getting punched – Maybe life is about getting your nail-pierced-eyeball sewn shut.
Yes. That sounds about right.
°°°°°°
* These events are true and happened to two men that I know. Both named Ben.
I was always jealous of those farm kids at the State Fair. Barefoot and confident, covered in dust — their coveralls did indeed coverall, catching every drip of ice cream, every drop of grease. I imagined that they slept right on the hay bales that penned off their milking goats – what a life!
Their blue-ribbon proudly pinned for all the Fair-Goers to see. And The City Kids lined up to milk their goats! Why can’t I have a goat? Why can’t I run around the fair barefoot — ringworm be damned!
I guess that DIY story is coming together — one of the writers called me on my telephone… I kept telling her everything was “off the record” – she seemed confused. I can’t just open myself up to the public. They did ask me to create Headlines for the other “Best In Show” categories. I wanted to do them in macaroni but they reminded me that I own a design and letterpress studio – not a design and macaroni studio. Now I feel like a missed the boat on that concept.
“How can we be expected to teach children to read when they can’t even fit inside the building?”-Derek Zoolander
It turns out that Panko Japanese Style Breading boxes are the perfect size for my Press (kit) Boxes! It’s true. Now my family will enjoy breaded EVERYTHING for the next two weeks.
The boxes have been turned inside-out, printed on, and stuffed with a variety of cards. I might sprinkle extra breading in for packing… We’ll see. I’d say that I’m sending them to my favorite magazines but that’s not entirely true.
Bass Master, Muslim Girl, and Quick Quilts didn’t make the cut.
Who did?
Oprah and Martha. And others. I think Oprah and Martha should combine forces, the masses would kneel before them.
Back on the Cape (Cod) again. I spent a restless night out in the barn. Maybe it was the vinyl covered futon OR my teenager’s shenanigans OR the twin mosquitos that took turns attacking me. I just don’t know – I just don’t know why my uncomfortable evening produced this:
A Minneapolis woman dove into the icy Atlantic Monday morning in an attempt to “meet a seal”.
Assuring onlookers that the attempt was an “act of diplomacy” she swam a distance of approximately 50 yards using a stroke known as the Dog-Paddle. She met the 350 pound Harbor Seal unaware that the top of her two-piece bathing swimsuit had become untied and dropped to her waist. The woman is reported to have said that the seal reacted to the introduction like “some sort of wild animal” … “His flippers were all over me.”
