Blog - letterpress in minneapolis

Dan the Man (number one) knocked on my door and brought me a heaping pile of curried potatoes on a paper plate, introduced me to the music of Tori Amos, and listened to our kitchen-conversations because our windows were so close. (HOW COULD HE NOT?!)

Dan the Man (number one) also played classical guitar, had a big belly, long curly hair, and wore red suspenders. With OR WITHOUT a stained white t-shirt.

I used to babysit for my baby cousin when Dylan was also a baby (Note: I knew he ate the cat food over there because his poopy-diaper smelled like a litter box). We were picked up in a taxicab three mornings per week

by a hippie named Dan the Man (number two),

and while we buckled up in the backseat (carseats were for suburbanites), he would tell me all about the best items to eat at the Old Country Buffet. Thanks Dan the Man, that IS useful information!

Oh, I carpe diemed like crazy in those days.

If only someone would spray paint a clown riding a unicycle on the Washburn Water Tower. 

Wait, someone did that in 1989 and I spied it on my bicycle while I wasn’t procrastinating writing a paper on the Shroud of Turin!

Here is an an artist’s rendering (mine) because I didn’t have my fanny-pak (Franny-pak) filled with an iPhone/camera and, sadly, only had the image seared into my brain via synaptic plasticity:

The only difference between the artist-rendering and the real graffiti is that the clown’s legs didn’t end with feet and were just magically stuffed into the wheel-hub. Did this give me nightmares??  Why would it??

I haven’t even thought of it for the past 30 years.

Franmas has come and gone and was filled with begging 

and mandatory/all-day posing.

**Not pictured: Flaming effigy/piñata the kids made of/for me.**

After I took this photo, we all laughed and shared a bar of 89% cacao, its whisper of sweetness brought us closer together. And the birthday celebration lasted longer than just 24 hours because the very next day Jen and I started printing the Spring Release!

Our telepathic communication is less fun than it used to be so we started using very subtle mumbling and facial expressions to share feelings of disgust or acceptance when choosing paper and envelopes.

While Jen prints, I conduct important research and send her texts.

Even though she doesn’t respond, I know she nods her head, files the information away, and appreciates it very much. She never sees me mouth the words, “You’re welcome.”

Remember last year when my lung collapsed and my mom had to sleep on a cot in my dingy bedroom so she could walk me to the bathroom in the middle of the night?And EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?

No?

I know you’re wondering if the EMTs were cute and why my bedroom was so dingy. Um, my mom volunteered to be their Resusci Annie doll and I’ve been a little too busy building the Zeichen Press Empire to focus on home-making frivolity.

But, between choosing paper/envelopes for the Spring Release and conquering territories, I did refresh my bedroom. And now I see no reason to ever leave it.Choosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.

Speaking of self-medicating (was I?) here’s a Spring Release teaser (see/buy ALL 12 from the shop!):

Discovering Instacart might change my life.These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.

IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.

And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?

If only the shop were actually connected to my house.Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.

Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.

Thanks to buzzfeed quizzes, examining my conscience is so much easier. And shouldn’t we all ask ourselves those tough questions this time of year? “If I were a pizza, what kind would I be?” Or, “Do I prefer Miley Cyrus from her Hanna Montana days or on a Wrecking Ball?” 

But what is a life if it’s not examined? Not picked apart? Not squeezed like an engorged tick in a ziplock baggie?

I make cards between all of this productive introspection. Sometimes fictional creatures are harmed. Sometimes, they are spared.Merry Christmas Eve-Eve!

The poor peasant said it best, “even if we had only one and it were quite small, and only as big as a thumb, I should be quite satisfied, and we would still love it with all our hearts.”

If Fairy Tales were true, hedgehogs would speak and donkeys would spew gold. And poor old peasants could wish and receive tiny children.

I wrote a Fairy Tale about an old childless couple and a duck. Inspired by true events. In the story, there is a duck, a baby, and an angry mob.

But I’ve said too much!

I’ll get that published someday but MEANWHILE here is a card for the new parent — it features a disgruntled chick.

A long, long time ago, when men roamed the wild, with sharp spears and heavy stones, a discovery was made: A charred nub-of-a-stick was scraped against the wall to create a picture, a representation of reality — why? 

The need to communicate visually is unique to humans (and some elephants).I wish I had a trunk.

Here’s what I need to communicate visually:

The trees are already half-naked and that reminds me – it’s time to start throwing my end-of-Summer tantrum – it’ll be a doozy.

October has been more cunning (moody) than usual and for that I tip my hat. I never know if I should wear my hot-pants or my Forever Lazy ($29.95).

But did October imagine that I would wear my hot-pants under Forever Lazy?? I think not. I think not.

Speaking of Winter and claustrophobia and lack of space and re-organizing the warehouse:

Yes, reorganizing the warehouse is at the top of my list. Right after:

1) Stare out the window, and 2) Wish someone would bring me coffee.

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.