Blog - design

Like a chicken, I am cooped up in my house… Day after day after day, longing to be free-range. I busy myself with cat photographyand new designs for RSVP. Which will be chosen for Valentine’s Day 2017?? Stay tuned…

The sixth-grade science fair was less about science and more about showcasing the student’s idiosyncrasies.

My brother and I spent the Winter inserting motors harvested from innocent appliances into the wall outlet in the basement and recording the results in our notebooks.

The results usually included the motors jumping out of our hands, spinning impossibly fast and bouncing around the room like a pinball.

And also blown fuses. (“Geez mom, I don’t know why the power keeps going out.”)

I don’t remember why we had to perform those “tests” – they really had nothing to do with his perpetual motion machine (made of legos, of course) or my nail+wire+battery=magnet.

The electro-magnet can be turned on or off just like my freak-magnet. I prefer to leave my freak-magnet on as it makes life more interesting.

And now I’ll talk about the project du jour: I designed a logo for a company called Pretty Fluffy Chicken – PFC develops recipes, cocktails, and blog content for clients like General Mills, a cantaloupe grower in California and a law firm looking for a custom cocktail for an event.

This could only be the brainchild of the ladies from JSTK.

Anyway, here’s the logo:

Okay, let’s call her “Sheila” and let’s call him “Franz Ferdinand.”

She resented every one of his hair-plugs. Row after row of weak little sprouts – such an offensive landscape. Each bloody little ring contained 4-5 “transplant hairs,” the math was easy enough – she figured that each stubby hair cost $7.40. Her pre-taxed, hourly wage at the Seed-N-Feed was $7.45 – barely enough to cover the cost of a single hair.

He had convinced her that the new hair would make him a better dancer. She knew now that it did not – his “moves” reminded her of the farmhands baling hay. Each jerky swinging of his arms nearly punching her in the stomach.

His unemployment was running out and now, thanks to this unwise investment, they would have to move into his mother’s trailer. Her whole life she wanted to be a professional dancer and had been searching for the perfect partner – why hadn’t she listened to her gut or that certified psychic that really seemed to understand her? Still, she danced with him – her graceful movements, her twirling skirt – he would have been captivated by her beauty if he wasn’t so fixated on the pounding in his chest. 

°°°°°

Wow! We all know what happens next. Thank the Lord she knows CPR and that despite the bitterness the hair-plugs caused, she still wanted to keep him alive. Sheila and Franz Ferdinand might just make it.

A whirly-who?

A metalsmithing kineticist/teacher  needed a business card and we made him this: