Blog - Letterpress

The Long Winter is the true tale of a Minnesota family surviving one of the most brutal Winters in our recorded history. Trapped in the house – day after day after day – the blizzard makes it impossible to see out the window or even walk out to the barn without getting lost. Good ol’ Pa rigs up a rope to follow, he is always coming up with some creative solution! Ma follows that rope because Pa finds himself trapped in a ditch by the creek. The wood pile dwindles to nothing and the family is forced to twist hay into little bundles – they would burn these in the cast-iron stove to heat their little house. … Tough, brown bread is the only food left to eat.

Or is it?

What if that was on the jacket flap? I’d totally read that book.

No big deal.

Just a photoshopped-four-color-halftone-letterpress-printed Christmas Card.

Jen and I were like, “Oh, that’s cool. For a Christmas card.”

WHEW! What a weekend!

First of all, Amanda came to my house to do my hair.

She did.

Shut up.

I totally care about how I look. It seemed strange to look so beautiful AND carry 500 lbs of cards from a loading dock to a folding table. But I did it for the kids. Jen and I have worked out a system of communication that really facilitates a speedy set up: Jen orders me around like some sort of slave and I stifle sobs behind my Crying Scarf.

There was another letterpress company about 10 feet away from us and we had to fight to defend our turf. Zeichen Press ended up winning because we have better dance moves and we bribed the judges with Bazooka gum.

I figured out something pretty important on Saturday morning: I look like a Sleestack.

OH! Another thing that was pretty amazing: That dapper gent from one of our new cards actually bought the card that he is on!

I love a handsome man with a wallet full of cash. (Do you hear me, Kenny?!)

Let’s see… oh, yes.. the show was jam-packed and we made gobs of moola. I mean, we spread the joy of the season through letterpress goodness.

Here’s me laughing at one of my own jokes:

And here’s Jen endlessly fussing over a display:

I almost forgot to share this bit of news: Somebody actually stole an entire stack of these:

What the???

She must be a professional stalker.

If all goes according to my master plan, 2,500 pounds of love will soon be mine.

2,500 pounds…

That’s one of these:

Or two of him:

Are you intrigued??

Dear Scary Santa,

How is Mrs. Scary Santa? How are the reindeer? That’s nice.

Could you please bring us our own architectural firm? Just like Mr. Brady from the Brady Bunch?

He’s always making models in the den and walking around with rolled-up blueprints. It looks like so much fun. PLUS, we would totally take care of it. We figured out the best name for it:

Tanek.

Get it?

It’s our names! Spelled backwards!!

Anyway, we’ll let you get back to working with the elves.

From,

Ken & Nat

It’s no secret that I have always wanted 300 feet of bubble wrap.

Somebody (Jen) had it delivered to our headquarters – it’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen on my doorstep. Although… the Sunday paper is nice to see when I open the door…or girl scouts selling cookies. Hmm, one of my stalkers once left a skinned, boiled squirrel on my doorstep… that was strange – and I still don’t get the  message – was it: “Love me back, or I’ll boil and skin you” or was it “I am capable of providing small game for your meals.”

Oh, I guess I’ll never know.

There were two parts to the Freak Show – two tents – one contained The Fat Lady and the other was filled with the usual freakish-fare. I didn’t really want to pay to see the Fat Lady so I poked my head under the tent – it seemed silly to pay to see a fat lady but this was before the days of google searches and voyeuristic television masquerading as health and human interest stories. Before the days of shows actually called, World’s Fattest Woman.

So I poked my head under the tent. A pit had been dug in the dirt in the center of the tent – she, all 600 pounds of her, sat in the pit in a teeny weeny bikini. The paying public stared and stared while she thumbed through the pages of a paperback.

The other tent promised a variety of oddities and I handed my tickets to the dusty man guarding the flap-door. In this tent there was a stage and on the stage there was a sign and on the sign were the words, “World’s Fattest Man”

The crowd – and I was in the crowd now – stared at the sign and waited for the man. He hobbled out using two canes – those canes that have the four baby canes on the bottom. He reached the center of the stage and lowered himself into a reinforced chair, spoke to the crowd about his thyroid disorder, and asked if we wanted to see him attach a bucket of bolts to his tongue.

Ugh. I wanted my tickets back.

Why can’t things be the way they’re supposed to be? And why can’t freaks just enjoy their exploitation? If I were a freak (if) I’d love it. I’d use my freakish power for the good of mankind.

I’d love to have one super long arm. A Super Arm. I could take seemingly candid pictures of myself even more easily!

Do you see that?

It’s like someone else is taking the picture. But what a struggle! 

If I had Super Arm my whole life would change!