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 won’t even speak of the weather BECAUSE IT’S UNSPEAKABLE.
You can’t break me, Weather.
You’ll never break me.
Everyone knows that the only cure for the cold is wood type. And alcohol. 
Jen and I have been having a debate about the next birthday card. And by debate, I mean she is, like, “I don’t care.” Doesn’t she know the dangers of Not Caring??
ANYWAY, here’s the card. BTW, that’s a vulture, waiting for you to die.
Whew! This birthday was a doozy!
Yes, we played 221B Baker Street.
YES, we ate ham & swiss sandwiches.
Here’s a new birthday card… that girl and pig look familiar…
Oh, another Spring is here!
Should I have photographically documented the first card printed for our Spring Release?
Probably.
But I was pretty busy having a Nurse Jackie marathon.
I DID write/design these:
See how I give and give and give??
Growing up one block South of Lake Calhoun in the 1970’s meant two things:
1) Over-charging for watered-down Kool-Aid on the boulevard
2) Wearing a neighbor’s pilly-bottomed blue leotard for a swimsuit
Like little ducklings, we’d follow my mom down the block for a day at Thomas Beach; she’d stand ankle-deep in the water, hands on hips, plotting. And staring at the only skyscraper in the Minneapolis skyline.
Just when I thought it was safe to burn my foot-shaped Smartwool socks, Spring decided to retreat.
At least I have feet.
Am I right?? Although, I’d be grateful for stump-shaped Smartwool socks.
I WOULD.
Here’s a card:
Oh, and Jen and I chose the cards for The Spring Release!
WHAT??
Who am I to deprive the masses of their Zeichen Press cards??
Zeichen Press “art” was “punched up”, PDF’s were emailed to art licensing companies, and virtual hugs and kisses were exchanged. Look (soon) for some of our cards (NOT letterpress printed) in Big Box stores across the country.
And by look, I mean buy.
IF you don’t have some cute independent store near you. OR if you don’t care about letterpress printing. OR if you refuse to shop in our store. OR you are already buying a stroller and paper towels and light bulbs and ground beef and toilet paper and shampoo.
A teaser:
Is Spring really here?
Not sure…
Let’s pretend it is. Let’s let me live in a world filled with hope! My obsessive weather-tracking (hourly checking my weather app) has proven to be successful.
It won’t be long before smartwool socks are shed and (my) legs are shorn.
Stay tuned…
Here are a couple cards I made instead of penning a suicide note.
(Graduation)
(Encouragement)
As I said goodbye to yet another kitten from our cat ranch,
I thought to myself, “I bet this is exactly how Beyoncé feels when she drops an album.” And then I thought, “My skin is so dry.”
I wish I could travel back in time… back to the 1970’s when there were environmental chambers built into the walls of health club locker rooms… (I think this is a real memory and that I’m not just pasting a false memory on top of a traumatic childhood locker room incident… those topless moms blow-drying their hair… Wait, am I?? Omg… Beep beep boop: Tropical Rainforest?? Yes, please!)
NO MATTER, here’s a new card!
Some things are predictable – and thank goodness! It’s important to have things to count on… runny noses in February, militant-radical beheadings, and birthdays.
The kittens just stole the strand of toilet paper that I was using to wipe my runny nose… ISIS militants cover their faces in black balaclavas… and I write birthday cards.
OH, LIFE.
My grandpa’s battleship was bombed and he had to tread water for 13 hours WHILE he kept his unconscious buddy afloat. That was just like the time in 2009 that I swam out to meet the seal.
SPEAKING OF TREADING WATER.
It’s mid-February in Minnesota.