Sandwiched between Woodworking II
and tanning booths at Golden Tan in the Richfield Hub (Um, Off-Campus Study HalI),
was a class called Printmaking. 
*Actual linocut carved while under Sr. Bernardine’s tutelage.
Maybe I should thank Sr. Bernardine (‘s grave) for opening my mind to all things print-related?
Inspired by that lil’ puppy:
Oh, wouldn’t I look smart in my new floral, lightly quilted, Guinnea Sax dress and ivory blouse! The thin silk ribbon under my collar tied so prettily… Real leather open-toe sandals with cuffed socks actually MATCH MY BLOUSE… Eleven years old and I just knew I already had the world by the shanks. THE SHANKS.
First Picture Day at my new school was going to change everything! Sure, I spend nights in bed carefully drawing miniature Black Stallions in the margin of my diary. And sure, I rarely brushed my stick-straight blonde, center-parted, mom-cut hair. But I was pretty sure I looked like Sissy Spacek, circa 1973.
With backpack securely fastened over both shoulders, I proudly marched through the alley-entrance onto the school playground/parking lot.
WHAT’S THIS?! The girls/my classmates are wearing Guess Jeans and white t-shirts!
My heart sank.
And they burst out laughing at the very site of me!
HOW COULD THEY?! THE AGONY! Thank God my call home from the nurses office only resulted in my mom coaxing me to stay at school long enough to have my picture taken, otherwise there wouldn’t be this evidence. THANK GOD.
~Dedicated to the cool kids~
…And someday I’d enact my telekinetic revenge…
Discovering Instacart might change my life.
These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.
IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.
And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?
If only the shop were actually connected to my house.
Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.
Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.
January has already been SO busy. I don’t know about Jen, but I’ve had to take a really active role as a listener/watcher.
First this: (Sherlock!)
And then this: (Serial Podcast: season 2!)
And now THIS?? (Making A Murderer, brought to you by the good folks at Netflix and Men’s Wearhouse!)
It’s a lot to keep track of… I’m taking notes if anyone needs them.
Don’t ask me how (DON’T ASK ME), but I was able to squeeze in one card:
I’m pretty sure it was our Jewish neighbor (and not Santa Claus) who put our presents under the tree when we were at Midnight Mass.
I got a globe.
But I barely remember that! I barely remember crying and sulking in my bedroom! Because this was the Lord’s day, not mine!
Merry Christmastime, everyone!
If only they would stop their playing and look over at me… Why is MY friend even playing with my stupid brother???… Maybe if I wave my arms and jump higher on this strangely super-tall bed in our basement… No, that didn’t work… Hold on… I’ll just climb down and drag over that chalkboard to lay flat on the floor because it looks more like water than the off-brown linoleum… Perfect… Now, I’ll roll over the large black, rubber inner-tube we float on at the lake… Just plop it right on top of the chalkboard… Looking good… Ok… NOW, I’ll climb back up on the bed and jump some more…
“LOOK AT MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
I hysterically scream, while diving face-first into the center of the inner-tube.
So much blood. So many tears. And my friend was sent home??? WHY MOM, WHY?!
I know everyone is DYING to see me operating my big-ass press.
Will wonders never cease? I love you, Internet.
Shu-OOT!! It’s a letterpress extravatacularasm!! This Freitag is gonna be all monster-truck-jam but with no trucks, no face-tattoos, and no NASCAR jackets. WHAT?! How can THAT be any fun?! Don’t tell Scott Parkin but I’m planning to ride in through the double doors and right over his conference table on my pimped-out ATV. It’s gonna kick so much ass.
So, it’ll be ME, JEN, MR. BEN LEVITZ … and I’m sure he’s got some sort of gun-toting design gang. I’ll be wearing a full Kevlar dress, so I’m not even worried. The thing about Kevlar is that it’s light and airy. Just like me.
So, pack your saddle-bags with hard-tack and whiskey, shave your legs, and kiss yer ma’ goodbye – you’re goin to Northeast Minneapolis. Oh, Northeast Minneapolis… so… artsy, so… much… like… Uptown… wishes… it… were… still…
Keegan’s Pub was crawling with local bloggers last night. I, too, left my secret headquarters and mingled with fellow pasty-faced Minnesotans. Aside from the table-raping, the evening was pleasant. Nobody noticed that I was suited up and ready for a blogathlon – I have been training all winter for this event – mostly sitting. Also, the interest I’ve had in other “things” and “people” has had to take a back-seat to my “writing”. The only thing that would have made the night more awesome is if James Lileks and I could have performed our Ice Revue. One word: Magic. Here’s a photo of me taken by a fellow blogger :
Doesn’t it look like I’m having fun?! I always have fun when I drink flat Pepsi. Notice my delicate pinky-finger. Notice the food on my sweater and in my hair. Somebody must have thrown that at me because I don’t even eat anymore. I just drink flat Pepsi. The Nihilist in Golf Pants was also there… he may or may not remember the event. He was with a fellow that had wonderfully shaped eyebrows and spoke of gopher-holes. I think he was talking about gopher-holes. I was so busy staring at the miracle of a man-in-his-third-trimester that I lost track of the conversation.
That was the most recent search on my blog stats page. Somebody NEEDS a birthday card for that special murderer in their life. Somebody typed those words into their little google search window and the 13th result is a link to this blog post.
You’re welcome.
Work is not really the right word for what I do. But I do sit in a particular chair in my living room. I sit with my laptop on my lap. I sit here a lot. Oft. I sit here ofttimes. In front of me is a couch. On the couch is the dog.
Above the couch are a row of windows. I sit and, absentmindedly, stare out the window. I do most everything absentmindedly. Some call it day-dreaming. I call it thoughts and feelings continuously flowing uninterrupted by objective description or conventional dialogue.
My teachers called it “almost failing.”
ANYWAY. I am sitting in my chair and I realize I am absentmindedly staring out the window. I notice the woman across the street (whose name I dare not speak) standing in front of her large picture window. She is an older woman and I’ve see her putter about in her yard scads of times… Now I see her standing in her living room, looking out her window. Not just looking out her window – she is standing stiff and still – as if in confrontation. She is staring, staring at me. I wouldn’t expect a television actor to stop the show and look through the glass at me looking at them. It’s not as if I am standing and staring out my window. I am in my usual slumped position, eyes barely over the screen of the computer, headphones blaring music in my ears.
I am camouflaged. She shouldn’t be able to see me.
But she does.
She sees me and I’m not kidding: She, this elderly lady, gives me TWO MIDDLE FINGERS! I actually pointed at myself “who me?” and turned around, sure to see some scoundrel. But no! The eminem-style-double-flip-off was meant for me. ME! I watched as she closed her blinds.
Robert Downy Jr. is holding My Cards and the cat is throwing up worms. Yin Yang, right??!! I get it. I GET IT. I can’t have the RDJ without the 5″ long vomit-covered, wriggling worms. I wouldn’t even dream of it. I don’t even DESERVE it. I AM the worm.
The Lowly Worm.
Hey!
I’ve got your stimulus plan right here: (picture me pantomiming using and flushing a toilet)
WHAT?! I KNOW! It?’s nuts, but don’?t worry, I have a plan. What? You are a ?creative? and not one of those money-grubbing-pencil-pushing-number-crunching-suit-wearing-folder-filing-douche-bags? Oh, well. Never mind. Your bulging, overdeveloped right brain will miraculously begin its emergency production of U.S. currency.
Oh, silly me. Or, ?Blee, blah, blah? as my mom would say. That was MY bulging, overdeveloped right brain trying to find a creative solution for something that is far too complicated for my shriveled left brain to comprehend. Doctors say that my left brain is all that actually remains of my parasitic conjoined twin.
But that’?s not important.
Listen, what IS important is this: Stuff as much potable water and canned ham as will fit in a canvas bag and hitchhike to the least populated area you can find. It will probably be a shopping mall because nobody has any money?.
I?’m just kidding.
Don?’t bring the canned ham – that?s gross. Bring one of those shrink-wrapped holiday sausages. Okay, where was I? Why do I think it?’s important to go to the mall to see the people NOT spending their moola? BECAUSE, you – The Creative, need to inspire the buyer to buy and should see firsthand where the people are milling about, imagining shelling out their hard-earned dough. This economic pickle will do something interesting for the creative community: It will separate the men from the boys, like a giant, emotionless colander. All you timid, cowering, insecure creatives will slip through the holes.
Don?t feel bad, your ?”creative thing”? could win you the title of The Most Awesome Pictionary Partner.
But, the rest of you… YOU need to bring it.
Bring.
It.
Show us what you?’re made of! There was a time when men labored their entire lives on a single artistic work. We have a word for those people: Dead. And also, dedicated. Know your market and drive your original, imaginative spear right through that teeny-tiny part of their brain that whispers, ?I like that.?
NOW, if you are a creative that does NOT need to earn a living busting your creative butt- ignore all of those crazy words above. YOU are a purist. You design and make and create because you can. If I were Oprah I?’d say that with a ton of energy and enthusiasm, ?BECAUSE… YOU… CAN!!? Do you feel me? Knit, sew, draw, paint, print, cook, write – whatever your medium, do your thing – don’?t let the staggering, smelly, urine-soaked economy drag you down, don’?t be discouraged! This is your big chance to wear depression-era clothing and squeeze blood from a stone! Visit your local thrift stores for materials, scour Craigslist for deals, fish your local pond for dinner!
My brother, Zak, goes to great lengths to keep his money from The Man. (Offshore accounts, blee, blah, blah) Salvaging wood from broken-down barns, buildings, docks, whatever – and transforms them into stunning pieces of furniture, ornaments, frames, and toys. (Shameless, nepotistic plug: click here to be lathered in images of wooden beauty)
It must be genetic because My Grandpa was all about recycling WAY before it was even a thing. He made his living as a plumber and knew copper more than most men know their wives. (But who can really KNOW copper? Right?) Door pulls, garden arbors, oven racks… the whole damn house was held together by copper.
Are you picking up what I?’m laying down? I?’m giving you examples from my own life that you might find something relatable in yours. That makes you, the reader, feel closer to me. We should totally go have coffee and talk about how we?re going to rock 2009.
Right on.
Richard Jenkins, Brad Pitt, Kate Winslet, Angelina Jolie, Meryl Streep, Danny Boyle, Stephen Daldry, David Fincher, Ron Howard, Gus Van Sant, Robert Downey, Jr., Philip Hoffman, Michael Shannon, Penelope Cruz, Viola Davis, Taraji P. Henson, Marisa Tomei:
Are.
All.
Getting.
Our.
Cards
YOU HEARD ME. These celebrated people will be attending the MMPA Oscar Luncheon and will be receiving one of those fancy gift bags that everyone drools over in Entertainment Weekly.
Is it wrong that I am caressing the cards and calling them Sugar-Bush?
Good luck cards. Good luck and God-speed.
Oh, which cards did we pick?
These:
As we pulled up in the parking lot to our Pre-School Speaking Engagement, Jen reminded me not to swear in front of the children. I told her I would do my best but I wouldn’t make any promises and that sometimes I need to use strong language to really make my point… sometimes I need to use strong language when children REFUSE TO BEHAVE.
I’m kidding. I told Jen to stick it in a hole. She’s not the boss of me. Then she slapped me good and hard. I can’t say that I blame her.
It took a few minutes for the kids to warm up to me. My costume might have confused them. Anyway, I brought a chase locked up with wood type and set it on the floor.
When I was a kid, I saw a kid throw another kid’s shoe into the Primate Den at The Como Zoo. The monkeys approached cautiously but before long they were all over that shoe. They wanted that shoe. I was fascinated. But then I was distracted because of another kid. A mischievous boy who met his match while trying to climb over a spike-tipped, wrought-iron fence.
I love the zoo.
What in the ding-dang are these city-folk up to now??!! Putting pins in good folks and charging money for it?! I got myself some thumbtacks and I can put ’em anywhere you damn well please and charge you half ‘n what these quacks are taking. You mark my words, next there’s gonna be all kinds of potions and maybe even some of that herb smoking. I got news for you:
This ain’t California.
We like our doctors wearing stethoscopes and blue pants. We like our doctors to give us shots when we don’t feel good. We like being sent to the pharmacist. WE LIKE IT.
Oh, flibbity flam. I’ve got some noodlin’ to do. Have a look at some of Fran’s “work” for Performance Acupuncture.
Logos… What the?
