Gasp!! THE NEW PATINA IS OPEN!!! - World Dominance

And like the phoenix, the New Patina (50th & Bryant) has risen from the ashes of the Old Patina! It’s BEAUTIFUL!!! 

I have said, AND I QUOTE, “If Patina carried a coffin, I would kill myself just to be buried in it.”

You may now throw-up. (I swear I’ll never quote myself again.)

It’s weird that the following photos have Zeichen Press cards in the foreground:

I was never a cheerleader in school.

What?! I know. Organized support seemed wasted on those teams. Where was all that morale-boosting during my long hours of detention? Murphy-oiling the wainscoting on the second floor made me feel like a loser. I think. I don’t remember anymore but it seems pretty pathetic. Anyway, If there were a team of girls, skipping, waving their arms, encouraging me – through rhyme – I could have had that job done post haste.

Here’s a new card:

Being buried alive happens – especially if someone thinks you’re dead. Why be unprepared for such misfortune? I practice digging myself free of the shallow grave by waking from daily, coma-like naps. That, and a spoon in my pocket give me peace of mind.

After I shake the dirt from my hair, I ask myself a series of questions: What time is it? Did I really just stab that woman in the neck with a pencil? Why did I have to use that toilet on the 50 yard line? 

Whew! Every day is like a new adventure.

Sometimes my subconscious dreams up a new card and that usually comes out in my post-coma Q&A.

Vulgar! I know. I won’t apologize for ideas that The Lord puts into my head.

Everyone knows that discovering a centipede on your toothbrush is an omen. That sounds scary! It is. In my case, the foreshadowing is still in its mystery stage. To be safe, I am zipped up to the neck in a sleeping bag.

In other news: I was almost hit by a car in St. Louis Park today. Hey! THAT’S what the centipede was trying to tell me! Thank you centipede/sorry for telling my husband to make sure he really smashes you.

This change of seasons (mood swing) forced me to think about cold and Winter – and because I always try to find the nugget in the pan – I thought about Santa. Good ol’ Santa. I refuse to let him be this one-dimensional “ho, ho, ho-ing” character.

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.

The New Zealand distributor placed another huge order and I found Jen rocking in the corner, muttering something about paperwork and international shipping. With the intern gone, we are forced to actually PAY OUR EMPLOYEES. What next? Bring your daughter to work day?? Oh, we both do that. Every day.

WHAT?! How did that kitten get in there? They’re everywhere.

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.

The intern packed up her carpetbag and rode away. I felt like we should hug but we didn’t – hugs are best left out of print shops. She made this before she left:

Go, my young grasshopper, go and use the life-skills I so generously shared with you.

Fred photographed the new cards – here’s my favorite:

That’s a true story.

ALSO: Becki Iverson at Metro Magazine wrote a nice thing about us. I think we’ll keep giving out that photo until we are 60 years old.

Nobody needs to see a photo of us taken in February.

Jen and I have trashed our share of hotel rooms. Dangled from our share of balconies. Saddled our share of large-scale dogs. Roped our share of ferrel cats. But Monday night, while hanging out the back of a speeding pick-up truck, her hair covered in vomit, Jen turned to me and said, “Thank God for our fans. If it weren’t for them, I don’t know how I’d go on.” My response could barely be heard through a mouthful of cotton-candy, “Especially Andy Schefman. Especially Andy Schefman…”

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.