Blog - True Story

Susie the Cat, 2, of Minneapolis, house-cat of the Shea-Rosen family, died post sterilization surgery. She was born at the North Pole and lived her life in South Minneapolis. Survived by Classic Pam, Tim, Penny, Monte, Max and nine other children.

She was preceded in death by her son, Black Stallion.

I finished scrubbing coagulated (cow) blood off the walls of the refrigerator (who stands a raw rump-roast on its side with no plate below?!) just in time for an important meeting.

The Chief Financial Officer, the Chief Accounting Officer, the Chief Content Officer, the Chief Creative Officer, the Chief Visionary Officer AND Loretta

were all in attendance.

The purpose of this conference was to discuss the profitability and potential of a particular product. Were projected earnings delivered? Could a product redesign garner a higher margin of sales?

In other words, we picked some new colors for an existing card because we felt like maybe the card would do better if the colors were a little punchier.

This blog turned three yesterday. If I weren’t so self-involved, I would have sent it a card and filled a piñata with entrails. But today, to celebrate, I invited the squirrel into my kitchen

to share an avocado and sat in someone’s urine on a concrete bench. It’s sinful to be jealous of my charmed life.

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 heat broke like a fever and I’m left shivering in my hot pants and (court ordered) tube-top. I think it’s time to head out to the shop to see what that intern has been up to while I’ve been at the lake.

Melissa Peterman and George Keller turned a hot, mosquito-filled night in the Zeichen Press backyard into something magical.

The swarm of bees came at me like a swarm of bees and stuck their stingers efficiently into my face and left arm. 

The disfigurement that followed was sideshow-worthy and while I’m as eager as the next gal to take the show on the road, I knew this hideousness was only (sadly) temporary.

My forearm doubled in size and I considered tattooing an anchor on it a la Popeye (the sailor man).

Don’t worry, a can of Raid was emptied into their home/my trellis/the doorway to the shop. I’ll be getting back to work as soon as this Benedryl wears off.

Summers on Cape Cod before the invention of electronic mail (or personal computers) meant low-tide foraging, wiffle ball and handwritten letters. Letters were elaborate and could include drawings, mix-tapes, whipper-snappers, and live specimens.

I learned that the more letters written, the more received, so rainy days were spent diligently embellishing the news: Picnics with the Kennedy’s, shark hunts, ghost encounters – all sort of true.

There was (and is) no mailbox at 29 Freezer Road and so the day includes a walk to town for the newspaper and a visit to the post office. The post officers knew us by (last) name and quickly slid the day’s mail across the counter.

The Intern has been pulling orders with a smile on her face. How does she do it it?

My job is to bring them to the post office. I am tempted to fill the boxes with live specimens and whipper-snappers but I will restrain myself.

One more trick added to our nearly packed act makes us four-trick ponies.

1) Design (obviously)

2) Letterpress (tons of it)

3) Creative (vague and non-committal)

4) Jell-O Shot Instructional Film Directors (why not?)

The Zeichen Press Headquarters were transformed into a satellite Jelly Shot Test Kitchen, complete with a tableful of alcohol and motivated (sober) women.

The prep was taken care of the night before the shoot.  So as usual, instead of putting the kids to bed, we were busy creating fancy Jell-O shots.

See how Jen garnishes? With the precision of a surgeon:

A surgeon who has to delicately place lime zest on a patient’s incision.

Our talent (that’s what they call the actor/actress in the biz) was most talented – and her nails were perfection. And despite kids, dogs, cats, water balloons, side-chatter, and the tableful of alcohol – Jen kept things running as smoothly as my Grandma’s kitchen.

Two done. One to go.

On the back of the Atari 2600 there was a difficulty switch. “A” was normal but “B” made dragons move impossibly fast

and shrunk trampolines.

Flipping the switch meant a game had been mastered. Mastered.

Those were simpler times.

I opened the door to the shop last night and was greeted by an avalanche of bicycles. Two of them had no kickstands and were tangled with the lawn mower. I would have moved the mower and bikes easily but I was blocked by a giant roll of bubble-wrap.

I wonder if the interns that emailed looking for work have any idea my days contain such physical obstacles.

I almost forgot why I even went into the shop… It wasn’t to get bruises and swear – was it? No! I needed to lay out some new Mother’s Day cards!

I had to set my type by candlelight because the lightbulb burned out over the big cabinet and I couldn’t replace it without using the ladder that was wedged between the weed-wacker and the card-carousel.

Sooo…