Posts in Grandma
I think Tib The Cat is pregnant. I could have (should have?) put a stop to the coitus, but who am I to stand in the way of true love? WHO AM I? Wait, was that really true love??Hmm… Zoom… Enhance…GOOD LORD.
Speaking of Father’s Day…Oh, and did this Father’s Day card ever make it on the blog? (Winky-face.)PS: Apparently my SEO success could be better if I mention letterpress-related words IN my blog posts. Words like: tactile, vintage press, printing, ink, paper, mangled hand.
By age nine, I would delicately,
with my right hand, fold down the sharp fins of a Sunfish.
So I could use my left hand to insert the rusty pliars into the gasping mouth of my catch to retrieve the swallowed hook.
If I was lucky.
If I wasn’t lucky, I’d stare at my motionless bobber for hours.
*Some backstory: My older brother (third of eight) allowed me to fish with him if I did whatever he said, and didn’t cry. He was SERIOUS about fishing. I had glasses and greasy blonde hair.
**Some backstory about the backstory: My brother was born in September, and I was already a sprouted seed in our Mom’s belly by the next Summer.
Why doesn’t he ever tell me to get the rusty pliars??
He just tells me to “hang in there.”Oh, back to my Mom… She has 22 grandkids. This is her with the latest:HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
How To Play:
• Using a neighborhood approved selection method (engine, engine #9 — bubblegum, bubblegum in a dish, etc.) select The Witch.
• Use the same method to select a Guinea Pig.
• The remaining players are Runners.
• The Witch leads The Guinea Pig away. (This should be terrifying.) The Witch hides The Guinea Pig — not on the garage roof. (This might be tempting. Don’t do it.)
• The Witch gives (verbally) a list of tasks to The Guinea Pig — things like: A) Run around the house three times singing The Happy Birthday Song. B) Dig a hole, bury one June Bug in it. C) Fill a hat with decorative rocks from the neighbor’s garden, etc.
• At this point, The Witch must call out “ready-or-not!” from wherever he/she is waiting/hiding.
• The “tasks” given to the The Guinea Pig are meant to lure the Runners off their safe-base and into the waiting/hiding clutches of The Witch while searching for the hidden Guinea Pig.
• When/if any Runners are caught by The Witch, he or she turns them into Another Guinea Pig. Meaning: They are hidden and given a new list of tasks for The Runners to complete.
• When tasks are completed for a particular Pig, a Runner must free them by tagging. The Guinea Pig must run to the safe-base without being caught by The Witch.
• If The Runners successfully free The Guinea Pig(s), they win the game.
• If The Witch catches all of The Runners, she/he wins the game.
* If someone wets their pants during course of play, a “time-out” should be called and fresh pants should replace wet pants.
In a bold (not really) and unprecedented (true) move, Zeichen Press will be offereing box sets of greeting cards that are not letterpress printed.
Hold your applause until the end.
We call this our Makeready Collection.
Letterpress printers (like us) need to test placement, packing, and color when printing something new. The same old piece of paper is printed on over and over again, resulting in an odd (and might I add, paranormal?) mishmash of goodness.
Our Makeready Collection imitates this letterpress printing practice using a computer and some other kind of printing. (Offset)
Here are the three designs: (Available for The New Year)
Well, here I am, back on The Cape for some Rest & Relaxation. Sharks are the big news out here
(sorry, Andy) so I sent the kids right out into the ocean.I told them that we need to make clam chowder and clams don’t clam themselves — so get to work.
I believe the following card captures the feeling of every citizen on our planet:Why would I send that card/who would want to receive a card like that?
Um, I don’t know your friends and I’m guessing we all have at least one unabomber in our lives.
I’ve been told that it’s important to take a break — get in the car, hop on a plane, inject yourself with propofol — whatever it takes. I love free advice — remember when everyone told me to get my cat fixed? She did die but I hate dwelling on details.
Anyway, I decided to take that break…
Step one was important and involved shaving the dog.
This took about two hours because she insists on wearing the wig.
Step two involved tuna-salad. That’s self-explanatory.
And step three was spent poring over maps. This step was critical because, for some reason, I would be the person driving the car. “WHAT?!” you say. And rightly so.
Yes, for two and a half hours, my passengers/prisoners sat with clenched jaws, praying for safe passage or a quick, painless death.
Praise the Lord, prayers were answered, tuna salad was consumed, ticks were pulled, and screens were repaired.
It was only 24 hours, but it felt longer. If someone you love is diagnosed with a terminal illness and wants to make their life feel like it’s dragging on and on, send them to a place without flushing toilets — a place where you are forced to haul your own water to pour into the toilet bowl so the toilet will (magically) flush.
The drive home was terrifying and I gripped the steering wheel like a scrap of wood floating by a freshly wrecked ship. If the other drivers on 35W only knew my fear, they would have given me my own lane and maybe a police escort.
I think that means Seize Mother’s Day. But maybe not – I am really only fluent in Pig-Latin.
As far as I know, we all have mothers. I don’t think Science has done away with that yet. And I’m going to boldly state that the majority of readers of the Is That Funny blog love their mothers. Why? My research shows that people who $*#%-ing love Zeichen Press also $*#%-ing love their mothers. My research involved a picture-day slideshow and ham salad sandwiches. Also, $50 bills stuffed in a piñata. It was unorthodox but revealing.
But, don’t let me tell you what to do. I mean, if you don’t want to celebrate your mom (OR mother-in-law!) on this one day of the year, that’s your decision. I’m sure she won’t be hurt at all. It will never be brought up again.
Oh, Winter! You blustery old fool – you are the antagonist of the seasons. And as I am the protagonist in my own story, I gladly throw my fleece-lined hat in the ring. It is February and that means Triumph is within my grasp. I can smell it like a plate of clam fries. Mmm, clam fries… Once Upon A Time, I found myself sitting in front of an abandoned plate of clam fries. They were left by an angel disguised as a drunk couple. God is so mysterious!
Here is a new card, inspired by the soft blanket of snow that covers this land:
No more casual afternoons at Starbucks. No more sidewalk cafes. No more days at the park with the kids. No more walking down the sidewalk with a kid on my shoulders while sipping a Starbucks Latte while going to the sidewalk cafe from the park.
Not any more. Because we’re celebrities. I know, I know – don’t worry – I’ll still make me-time.
If you are living in a well, you might not have heard that Zeichen Press was proclaimed Best of Show by -my new favorite- magazine: Do It Yourself
With the magazine in her hands and a cart full of groceries, Jen called me. She called me over the loudspeaker. I was in the frozen foods section and she ordered me to get myself to Lane 7. I did as I was told and Thank God because Jen was being dragged away by security – I got there in the nick of time, explaining that we were on a “living on your own” outing and I’d be taking her right back to the group home as soon as we bagged her groceries.
Okay, here’s a sneak peak into the magazine – go and get your very own copy and don’t forget to buy some of our goddamn holiday cards.
Yesterday, I spent 10 straight hours sitting in the kitchen. I didn’t brush my hair or teeth.
(I once saw a medical show about a man who complained of stomach aches, they finally cut him open and discovered his partially re-absorbed, unborn twin in his own belly. It had hair and teeth. Not much else to it. A lot of hair. A lot.)
I stayed in my pajamas. I drank coffee and cold fried chicken. Disgusting? Undoubtably. Did I care? Not the slightest. I was being paid to sit there and provide art direction for a local ad agency. Me and my laptop and the kitchen table strewn with yesterday’s dinner dishes. Who cares? Certainly not me. My Grandma would have been disgusted. She also would have been confused by the “strange typewriter machine”. Anyway, I finished the job, went to The Happy Gnome with my mom and made one of the kids clean the kitchen. Here’s a picture of me after I finished the job: note the fried chicken triggered chin acne.