Good Times People

Thanks to everyone that stopped by; we enjoyed giving you free beer, soda, and snacks.

If you missed the show, you can see some flicks here. If you want to find out about future events you can join our mailing list.

We’ll have most of the pieces for sale online soon. That way you can continue to live a life of solitude and eat it too.

Speaking of eating, thanks also to Alyssa Sheldon for her fantastic foods.

First Print Show

We’ll be having a show of all our in-house & some customer work Saturday May 09.

The show will feature prints on fabric, paper, metal, and wood.

If we really like you, you’ll get a fancy printed invitation in your mail box.

Feel free to bring well-behaved friends or that girl you’ve been trying to impress with how “into art” you are.

One Card Draw

Our new cards are done. We know you like it thick but still need to impress your friends with how small your carbon footprint is, so we made them out of 90 point recycled chipboard.  They’re 1/10 of an inch thick. That’s half a pica if you’re a letterpress printer or somebody’s grandfather. For the rest of us who are living on pocket change and squatting in foreclosed homes, that’s equal to two pennies or the finger diameter of the common fancy rat.

Shadows Are Not White

Unless you are talking about the English back-up band for Cliff Richard, shadows are black. The British aren’t always a good example to follow anyway; ever heard them pronounce advertisement, schedule, or aluminum?

This mistake with artwork is something we see a lot in the screenprinting industry, and now in my neighborhood apparently. Usually it happens when people decide to save $25 on making a new screen for dark-colored shirts. Most prints start out as dark ink on light fabric/paper. Then, after the screens have been made, somebody comes up with the clever idea to print the same design on dark garments with light-colored ink without inversing the image and making a new screen.

Guess what. Now you’re in inversed reality land where shadows are white, white people are black (not African American mind you, I mean black like a crayon), real African Americans have white shadows, our President looks like an extra from Miami Vice, and the designer/printmaker becomes an “artist”.

Being lazy and ignorant doesn’t make you an artist; you have to go to art school for that. Then, once you get your degree and are getting paid to be lazy and ignorant, make all the “art” you like with impunity. Until then, put down the Photoshop and learn to draw.

Happy Hollandaise

The first time I ever had fresh octopus was in Miyama, Japan. I was visiting my sister, who was teaching a 1st & 2nd grade class. The class was their equivalent of home economics where you learn how to cook. That’s right, 1st and 2nd graders learning how to cook. They not only cooked, but they also served and cleaned up their lunches every day in the cafeteria. They don’t play over there when it comes to raising kids. Anyway, in Japan they are much less concerned with civil rights than we are here. They don’t have time for people suing each other left and right because somebody got their feelings hurt. Basically the impression I got was you are responsible for your own well being, and it isn’t somebody else’s fault if you are too stupid to keep yourself safe. I imagine they also like the idea of letting the dumb thin themselves out at a young age.

It was in this atmosphere that my sister was teaching them to make Takoyaki or baked octopus balls. To be clear, that’s bits of octopus tentacle baked into the center of a ball of quiche-like batter, not what you were just thinking. And because it’s Japan, only fresh octopus will do, which means those slippery tentacles had to be cut up right there with 12″ long knives and cooked on portable gas-powered stoves by 1st and 2nd graders. It was like being in a Chucky movie, only nobody got stabbed and we were laughing a lot. After they finished, the kids proudly served us gaijin their meals on little plates, but not before they covered them in mayonnaise. The Japanese love some mayonnaise. They love mayonnaise more than fat people love to not walk up (or down) escalators.

Its not just the Japanese though. What I didn’t realize at the time was I was witnessing part of a larger movement that for now I’m going to call the international mayonnaise plot. Across the globe people are going to push this nasty combination of egg whites and vinegar on you any way they can. Here in America you’ll find it disguised as Green Goddess dressing, Aioli drizzle, Hollandaise sauce, Tartar sauce, and whatever that gelatinous off-white stuff is they give you on the side at burger joints. Be wary of their treachery and avoid the greasy non-food whenever possible. If you don’t think eating mayo is such a big deal, remember this: when it’s cooked, it turns clear. Putting that in your body is like saying “Can I have some black magic with my fishsticks, please?”

Fresh Octopus (Tako Butsu) is the only way to go. Enjoy it in good health.

Your Name is Boring

A few people seem to be worried about America being outperformed by other world powers in the coming years. These fears seem to be somewhat founded, as one of the first warning signs is already showing up: better names. Chances are that unless you’re an international scientist, you have a boring name and will in turn pass mind-numbingly tedious appellations on to your dull children. Think about how many people you know named Jason, Heather, John, or Chris. If it’s not more than five of each, I’ll eat my hat. I’ll bet you know so many dudes named Dave that you either have to refer to them by their last names or come up with qualifiers. “No, the Dave from Philly. Oh, there are two of them? Well, the Dave that rides a bike.” And so on.

For some reason, international scientists as a community sport some of the most entertaining monikers around. Take Dr. Electron Kebebew, for instance. Not only does he save lives, but he also saves us from stupefaction. As do his siblings, Positron, Neutron, Deutron, and Proton. Nobody over here would have the balls to name their children after subatomic particles. Meanwhile, this guy is like a walking conversation piece. He doesn’t even need his last name, like he just dropped a gold album last week or got caught on video performing a sodomy. Who would you get him confused with? “Oh, you mean that Electron, I was thinking about the other guy.” How about Michael Marmot from England? He’s been knighted and is a professor at a university in London. That means he can go by Sir Professor Marmot. Are you serious? How has this guy not taken over the planet yet with a nomenclature like that? At the very least he should have his own kids’ show, line of vinyl toys, and a street named after him in every city over there.

Finally, consider Dallas Swallow, a human geneticist at University College London. Her work on the lactase persistence polymorphism helps us understand the significance of milk in the development of culture, and she does all this with a name more appropriate for a hooker in Grand Theft Auto. Now tell me what you did today besides boring me with your trite name. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Sick & Tired

Given the popularity of all-over print clothing (still?), I predict the next big thing will be chef pants. Mad chili peppers and broccolis all over your ass like someone went off on you with a salad shooter. But don’t listen to me–if you want the real inside word, make friends with a gay dude; they’re the taste makers sure enough. That’s been the way of the world since the 70s when drag queens would show up in the club sporting the most ridiculous threads they could find and it became popular culture. And remember in 2003 when you discovered hot pink? Guess what. Now try to say with a straight face that a heterosexual man should wear tight jeans. While you’re coming to terms with how gay your wardrobe is and what that means to you, have a look through our recent store updates. None of which were designed by gay guys, so don’t expect your friends to like anything you buy if you wear it out.

Danger the store.

Leathers & Feathers

Two years ago, when gas got over $3 a gallon, everyone decided the environment was a legit problem and being a green consumer (or at least pretending you cared via conspicuous consumption) became trendy. If something we want is too expensive, we can fix it by buying something else, right? Now that there’s a shortage of gas you’re probably wondering what you can buy to fix that. Heres a shortlist for you: Get some football equipment, tie a few dead crows to it, stock up on canned dog food, and adopt a feral child. Problem solved. Plus it gets kids off the street. After that, come see us on the road with the Adult Swim County Fair. We’ll be the ones giving out free shirts. We know you love your cars and won’t part with them unless you are dragged away kicking and screaming. Just remember these are the salad days that you’ll be telling your grandkids about when they’re bitching at $4-a-gallon tap water.

Road Sage

We all know it’s harvest season. Otherwise you’d be in class right now pretending to take notes on your MacBook while actually updating your Facebook. You think you have the teacher fooled but she knows exactly what you’re doing and doesn’t care. Just like some of you don’t seem to care if anybody knows when you are coming into their lane on 85 South. Think of using your turn signal as saying to your fellow drivers “Hey, I don’t want us both to die just because I’m late for my pilates class but here I come.” Most people will be happy to let you over unless they are on their cell phone and don’t notice your turn signal. In that case, nevermind with the signal and just run them off the road like you originally planned. Also, if water falls from the sky while you’re driving, it’s not the end of days.

We Like You

So, we’re calling for a moratorium on wearing shirts with your favorite person on it. Unless it’s your Grandmother/father who you should want to be exactly like, even if they use racially inappropriate language for the 21st century. They lived through the Depression, probably helped raise you in ways you don’t even know about, and you repay them by wearing a Scarface shirt? Look, we’ve all done it, so don’t sit there nodding like you’ve not at least thought about sporting Che or Mao because you thought it was ironic. Those guys were dicks. I myself misspent my youth in a Trotsky shirt (you can look him up while you are looking up moratorium) because I thought it was funny. It wasn’t and it isn’t. He was assassinated. At age 60. In Mexico. In short, it’s like saying you’d rather be the person on your shirt than in your shirt. Please don’t say that.