Blog - World Dominance

Off-key Christmas carols float dreamily through the Summer air, the ice-cream truck trolls for kids using low-fi audio technology. Water-balloons are filled, teams are picked (bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?) but distractions are everywhere and soon talk turns from who is on which team to pretend lands filled with orphaned children. Poor, parentless children, left to cobble together meals from mint leaves and wild rhubarb.

Summertime, and the children and animals are off-leash — days are filled with sprinklers, wet bathing suits, hot dogs burned on the grill, and day dreaming.

Here’s a new card:

They were born not as two, but one. Cut from the belly of a woman who was hardly human. Her womb, an experimental lab — a petri dish, an incubator of life not fit for earthly habitation. But life, still. 

Strange!

No, not strange:

Like Bread & Pickle (LOVE their lattes) but it serves turkey chowder in an air-sickness bag. 

Life is full of gratitude and regret. Both should be acknowledged. Hopefully via a Zeichen Press card. I am sure that if we all thoroughly examined our consciences, we would discover a whole room of regret. That room would be furnished with a urine-stained futon, a musty trunk, and an ash tray. That’s sad!

CONVERSELY, the gratitude room is full of Daylilies and cookie jars.

Here are some cards for both occasions: And don’t act like you don’t need both cards.

We still love you.

There was a pet store in my neighborhood (Petcetera) that had all kinds of fascinating creatures. The best creature was a full-size (5 feet, from snout to tip of tail) alligator in a steel tub. The tub had a makeshift screen cover so that the alligator couldn’t escape.

A screen cover. 

So the ALLIGATOR couldn’t escape.

I think it was drugged anyway — it just laid there, blinking it’s beautiful eyes.

Of course there were snakes, and I don’t know much about snakes, but what I do know is pretty scientifically accurate. When snakes speak, they drag out their s’s. They’re usually pretty shy but if you give one a frozen mouse they are your friend for at least 5 seconds.

It was a fat PVC pipe, coated in Crisco, pitched at a 25° angle and suspended over a pit filled with filthy water. A $5 bill was clipped to the high end and my job was to shimmy my way to it. (Why am I always shimmying poles?) With my glasses pushed tight to my face, my stringy blonde hair moved back and forth as I slid myself toward my goal. I wore my lucky shorts — Granny Smith green with pink piping — and “my 4th of July” shirt — red and blue striped off-brand Izod.

A crowd gathered.

I wanted that $5 and the glory that came with it. With that $5, I could buy enough candy to satisfy my aching sweet tooth and with that glory came a lifetime of bragging rights. “The greased pole in the Hollow in Barnstable? Yeah, I did that.”

I entered a competition today. This one does not involve poles, pits, or Crisco. It does involve money and Jen and I have both agreed that we will do (almost) anything for money.

Uncommon Goods invited us to submit designs for an iPhone case and after slathering myself in Crisco, I submitted some designs. I know you’ve seen these before. I’m really into recycling.

I know that Native Americans can anticipate the change of seasons by paying close attention to the subtle signs in nature. I’ve been doing that too. 

Sign number one was seeing a rat splattered on the street in front of my house. When the rats crawl out of the sewers it means we are in for a serious drought. Or that I need to move.

Sign number two was seeing a man peeing on the side of my garage. When a man pees on the side of your garage it means that I need to move.

Okay, the school year is fizzling out like a dud of a firecracker and that’s good because I’ve seen those mangled hands and it is difficult to fill in those little SAT bubbles with a nub-hand.

Once Upon A Time, I made the difficult transition from Catholic Grade School to Catholic High School — this meant going from blue and green plaid skirts to brown and gray plaid skirts. THIS meant that I had to inch my way up the school’s flagpole and fly my skirt like a flag.

Just like Hayley Mills (in The Trouble With Angels!) sans cigarette.

It’s not too late to send your favorite graduate from the Class of 2012 a Zeichen Press card stuffed with money!  (You’re welcome, graduates.)

One fully loaded California Job Case weighs as much as I do and I have spent the week proving this.

We are in the process of rearranging the shop and I am in the process of atoning for my sins via physical labor — my hair shirt is at the cleaners and flip-flops don’t hold small rocks like Uggs.

Here’s how it works: I carefully slide one 100 lb case out of the cabinet and onto the floor.

And then I do that, like, 60 more times.

If I realize there is a case of type I need on the bottom of the pile, I simply pick up each and every case on top of that case and create another pile on the floor.

At some point, intern(s) get involved.Their apprenticeship is very old-school: They sort type/hate me. That’s how they used to do it in the good ol’ days, I’m just trying to keep tradition alive.

They’ll thank me later.

The Craftstravaganza is o-v-e-r. And in case you missed it, Jen gave a stirring performance as Janet Jackson circa 1989 – here’s a photo I took at the event, right before she threw down her cardboard and got totally into it. 

That was really something.

Also, and I don’t know why, I made this card after the show:Happy Mother’s Day, all you mothers!!

Jen has already packed up her cardboard for our big breakdancing number — that is our “workshop” for the Craftstravaganza on Saturday at the MN State Fairgrounds.

I sewed costumes (Jen will be dressed as Janet Jackson : Rhythm Nation 1814 and I will be a butterfly). Other workshops include weavers weaving, making t-shirt necklaces, food jewelry, and yarn bombing. The yarn bombing sounds dangerous.

There will be nearly 150 vendors, so if you can’t find a Mother’s Day gift on Saturday, I can only assume you hate your mom.

My mind wandered as I listened to the Second Reading. I wondered if I could get my hands on a chocolate milk for lunch. I watched the third graders fidget. I planned my fishing-themed diorama. …Children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth… I figured out what the initials TGIF stood for — oh, that makes sense! …I felt something crawl up my uniform blouse. 

I felt something crawl up my uniform blouse! Or did I? The question went unanswered because, like Abraham Lincoln in the balcony of Ford’s Theater, I’d been shot. Most likely, an assassination plot carried out by those boys that dumped Mountain Dew on my head last week. Oh, the pain! I signaled my teacher and was escorted to the nurses office by a girl that needed a hero badge to add to her girl scout sash.

The nurses office was familiar to me. Homesickness was an ailment I suffered from semi-regularly.

When I staggered through the door, the nurse stopped her mimeographing and looked at me. I pointed to my gunshot wound — nearish my right armpit but closer to a more embarrassing region. She lifted up my blouse. I stared at the poster on the wall.

Yes, kitten. I will hang in there.

It turned out not to be a bullet lodged in my ribcage, but a bee sting.

In honor of that important event, I created my own Hang in There! card. Do not accuse me of ripping off the original, it is an homage. An HOMAGE.