afrojet

Reading Leaflets
I was slumming it over at ebay, thinking that I might find some of those leaflets that our boys have been dropping over Iraq, when we aren’t busy dropping bombs already, but I couldn’t find any. I did however find this auction for an Iraq news website. I had no idea that people were putting up their sites for auction on ebay. I wonder how much I would get for afrojet? My guess is the Iraq news website wont get one bid, but these are strange times.

The reason I was looking for the leaflets on ebay was that I mistakenly thought those leaflets wouldn’t be public information. I guess I was wrong. In fact there is a government run website that posts all the leaflets that we drop on any given day. The designs of which look like they were put together by graphic designers still going through puberty. Sitting in the back of the class they scrawl and draw oblong G.I. Joe figures on their three ring binders with wishful out of proportion arnold schwarzenegger muscles and planes bursting into flames in the background.

For a comparison, check out the Vietnam War leaflets and the hateful but interesting graphical work of some WWII leaflets. And then, when you’re really ready to check out something weird, go to Kim Jong Il’s site. Now that should be auctioned off on ebay! While you’re there don’t miss the creepy rollover graphic for a button called “Friendship and Activities”.

Old School Blogging Device
This is an advertisement from a Johnson Smith Catalog (ebay!) circa sometime around the 1940’s. For only 12 bucks you could have walked away with your very own printing press with double rollers (great for teachers!). On the opposite page is this advertisement for whole cases of 8 through14 point Kabel type (one of my favorites). So for less than $15 bucks you could have started your very own daily leaflet and journal print shop. Opening the catalog to five random pages you get:

1. Secrets of Ventriloquism – 25&#162
2. Robert Burns Cigars (5 Cigars) – 50&#162 – great packaging!
3. Telegraph set (For Boys) – 15&#162
4. Smoking Eyes – 35&#162 – “You casually smoke a cigarette and then to the amazement of everyone the smoke comes ‘out of your eyes.’ Watch the doctors run for their cases; the ladies for the fire wagon.”
5. Brudder Gardner Stump Speeches – 25&#162

John Fante Versus John Fahey
Great balls of fire. Don’t ya’ think it’s strange sometimes how in the chaotic cosmos of information and entertainment some things actually fall in line for a damn second and you squeeze out one of those diamond cut moments of absolute clarity. The nodes heat up for a white hot minute and send a 24 Karate synaptic spark across the gray highway betwixt your ears. And damn if it doesn’t happen while you’re trying to take a piss – forcing you to clutch the towel rack to balance yourself. What the hell just happened? At first you’re reeling and can’t really express that moment articulately because it only presented itself to you for one clean second, but standing their with your dick in your hand, one more piece of the puzzle is found swirling amongst all the others and you’ve picked it up and snapped it into place. Fit in with all the other pieces, it seems to make sense. Then it’s gone. You flush the toilet and continue on with your day. For me that puzzle piece can only be expressed as John Fante versus John Fahey. Or put another way The Human Comedy versus the American Primitive. Trust me, more on this as it comes to me…

A Sad Day in the Neighborhood
The neighborhood has lost a friend. Fred Rodgers we will miss you. We are still learning from your words of wisdom. To wit:
“”We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It’s easy to say ‘It’s not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.’ Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.”

My Hair Versus The Aveda Institute
Yesterday was a big day for me and my hair. I had been putting off a haircut for awhile and it was time to get rid of some of my locks. It was a growing concern of all who knew me and was taking on new and different shapes daily depending on the weather and the amount of hat time I gave it.

I started going to the Aveda Institute about a year ago, which is to say three haircuts ago. The run down on the Aveda Institute is that it’s a school, a training ground, a learning center for those who wish to be beautiful and get paid to help others reach the same goal. It’s cheap cause they’re just students – so you take a risk. Your first sign of doom, that something could go horribly wrong occurs just after you walk through the frosted glass doors. You are immediately asked to sign a waiver, letting you know that no matter what happens on top of your head you may not come after them with shaking fists and loud voices. When you sign that slip, all bets are off. It’s basically a crap shoot and one I had been fairly lucky at so far. I was rolling sevens and feeling confident. But like a fine day at the race track, not all your horses can win, place, or show. Some just stumble out the gate and fall on a game leg. That was my hair cut yesterday. A disaster by all accounts. I think I could have walked into the Minneapolis downtown prison and handed a scissors to the first inmate I saw and received a better and more timely cut.

I wanted to say “deals off” as soon as I saw the girl. I believe at a beauty salon any type of profiling is O.K. She was literally half my size, the tinniest person I had ever seen. I didn’t think this would be physically possible. Sitting down in the chair, slouching as far down as my back could stand it, I still don’t think she was able to see over the top of my head. I was an idiot for not putting an end to this hilarity from the word go. My student had hands that were scared and timid, as if they were new and she was just getting used to them. The scalp massage was just strange. She moved one finger gingerly over my melon in a fashion that was very similar to how I use my track pad mouse – gentle and wandering. Everything she did was performed in this anxious timid way, but very calculated, which translated into many long minutes and then a couple painful hours. When she finally got around to cutting my hair I barely even knew she was at work. I couldn’t feel anything happening. Still today, I don’t think she did any real cutting of my hair. Thankfully, every 10 minutes or so she would call over an instructor who would take the scissors to my head violently and rapidly for about 15 seconds and then hand the scissors back to the student and say, “looks good”. I think the instructor cut more hair in an accumulated 60 seconds then this poor little girl did in an hour and a half. I kept asking questions like “shouldn’t you use that scissors thing with the comb to thin my hair?”. Which got a “Yes” but then I never saw the tool leave the polished chrome of her table. I usually like to get a straight razor to my hair to finish off the cut. It gives me that uptown look, but I couldn’t stand the thought of a straight razor in this girls hands so I kept real quite and walked out of the joint knowing full well that I would soon need to turn to a professional for a supplemental haircut.

Sitting in that chair for two hours I did have the fortune to get a good vibe on the Aveda Institute. It’s a very interesting culture. I enjoyed watching the foreign janitor up on a ladder polishing the same piece of wood (pun intended) for over an hour as he kept close watch on the 50 or so girls working the floor. I was struck by the site of the lone male aveda student who was chubby, had bad hair, and a shirt that was open way too far. He looked very uncomfortable as he sat alone at his station trying to give his disembodied practice head a weave. It was one of the saddest things I had seen in a long time. I would also like to write about the pervasiveness of what I can only call the Christina Aguilera 
Syndrome amongst the practicing students but I must now go get my own hair ready for the work day.

Snow Man with Attitude
Desperately fighting the elements, I ventured out for a long walk around Lake Calhoun Saturday. Amidst all the jogger squads and dog walkers, I peered out over the frost forming on my scarf and saw this little snow man giving everybody that came by the bird. He’s weather beaten and I can tell he has been around for a couple of days. The picture doesn’t capture it well but he’s got the fait remains of what I can only imagine was a wild smirk.

I spent the rest of of my cold walk wondering who had built the snow man and given him his wicked temperament. Was the snow man flipping off me and my fellow walker/joggers? Was he standing there, brave and naked on this frozen morning, laughing at all the bundled up passerby’s? Was he judging our private thoughts as we hurried on through our mornings thinking of all the things we needed to do that day?

The snowman’s purpose was none of those and all of those. Like a fine piece of art, he was standing there wildly for our own interpretation. He was whatever we wanted him to be. For me he was a reason to take a picture on a bitterly cold morning, one that I could hopefully share with my friends over my weblog. He was flipping off this cold weather, this uncomfortable torture, this godforsaken tundra, where a man has to spend half an hour to prepare himself to go outside; If you don’t you will die. He was taking a picture of me in my thermal long underwear, my hat and mittens and down-filled parka as I hustled along the path dodging all the joggers and their dogs. I must have looked pitiful to him. I must have seemed like a fool to be out there.

Truthfully…I wanted to smash that little snowman. Find a rock and pulverize him into the singular snow that created him. Like a little kid I wanted to kick him in his stomach and then break his little arm that was besmirching me and my fellow morning travelers. He was disgusting and wonderful. I chickened out, half afraid that the scene would draw too many people who would point and yell, perhaps tackle me on the open lake and cause a great panic. No, it wasn’t worth it. I would leave the snow man today and all the days to come. Instead I made a vow to visit him daily, for his sake and mine. I would show him courage and raw discipline in my routine and behavior. He would be impressed and soon, perhaps when it got a little warmer, he would take down his foul finger and restrain his mood to something more sunny. I’ll keep you posted.

Here by Design II
I both love and hate the StarTribune online, when they post an article like, Goldstein gathers Twin Cities designers in gallery show, by Linda Mack. I love it for publishing an article that highlights the Twin Cities design community – it’s artists, institutions, and companies, and I hate it for not linking to those artists, institutions, and companies mentioned within the article. After actually tracking down the Exhibition at The Goldstien Museum of Design, I am again disappointed to see the artists and company’s listed again without links. So for my own sanity, here are the links:

Baltix. Ecobuzz office furniture.

An article in IDonline on Bamboo’s Kathy Soranno package design work for Schroeder milk.

Blinc Publishing. A design company that specializes in letterpress printing. Bill Moran, owner, was my typography instructor.

blu dot design. Furniture designers. I also hold these guys singlehandedly responsible for the current trend in restaurant names incorporating the word “blu” in their name.

Blue Fish Furniture. A “design studio offering our clients custom artistic lighting fixtures .”

Caldrea “devoted to helping you make your household chores more enjoyable. This linnk ommission is especially disconcerting as Caldrea have a very beautiful website.

Larson. Design and interactive agency.

Some Works by Lisa Elias.

Redlurered(coming soon). This place has the dopest furniture in town.

Richard Helgeson, “has been building things for 25 years, first as a carpenter and home builder, and for the last decade as a furniture maker”.

Spunk Nation. Branding, Typography, Playful designs.

Thomas Oliphant Studios. Furniture design. I almost bought his bottle opener the other day. Great design.

Wink graphic design. Some of their book cover designs can be seen here.

Missy, Ween & Weirdness
Did anybody else watch Missy Elliot on MTV Cribs last night? Hot Damn, that was quite a pad. I wish I was friends with Missy. My favorite was after showing off her all green lamborghini, she made some comment about going back to the house to “fix myself a twinkie”.

I read in Rolling Stone last night that Ween had been hired by Pizza Hut’s advertising agency to record a jingle of sorts for their overstuffed cheesy pizza. The results of which can be heard on Ween’s website here. I have no idea why the advertising agency rejected the jingle. I mean, you can’t get anymore catchy then a call and response lyric that asks, “Bitch, where the motherfucking cheese at? – I don’t know.” That’s just brilliant. I am bummed that ad will never be made.

Also decently weird is the illegal art project that features Packard Jennings prototype Pez dispensers with dead rappers like 2pac and Biggie. I think a Jam-Master-Jay modified pez dispenser that dispenses little records would be tight if the proceeds went to the right place. I also really like Hiedi Cody’s “American Alphabet”. You can see more of her work with cut up logos light-boxes and advertisements here.

For anyone looking for a catchy URL for their website and/or weblog may I please suggest streetblimp.org. It really roles off the tongue, don’t you think?

Morning Photos
This looks like fun. This looks like it would be illegal in some states.

We All Jump for Julius
Over the weekend I found myself at Marshall Fields shopping for pants. I bought myself a nice pair of Paul Frank cords and then headed up to the women’s department where the misses was going to see what Paul Frank made for the ladies. At first, the Paul Frank section eluded us. Then from out of nowhere came four young girls sprinting down the halls of Marshall Fields followed by their older chaperon who was trying to keep up. These girls rounded a corner and descended like jackals onto the P. Frank merchandise. There was pushing and shoving, young elbows were employed to get at the goods. The cute aesthetic put forth by Paul and his jungle of animated friends was being assaulted by the fashion desperate grabbing of a handful of forth graders. It was an ugly scene, and one we wanted no part of. A firm reminder of the benefits of shopping online.

P.S. at the Paul Frank site you can download lots of cute little animal icons for use on your machine. My favorite is “pufak” the racoon and “steve” the crab.