No More Facebooking at the breakfast table

I quit Facebook.

My wife drug me into it after years of refusal and I turned very quickly into one of those constant status checkers that everyone hates, but just couldn’t stop…

It is the data mining that finally got me. I had to get pissed off before I could put it down. Products were suggested because I went to a website 9 months ago, books were suggested “out of the blue” (Mahogany: The Costs of Luxury in Early America is on EVERYONE’S top pick list… Sure…) from my Amazon wish list, a friend suggestion was made for the cop that sends out monthly neighborhood safety bulletins for our neighborhood in Seattle. The friend thing was the final straw…

A couple of years ago my shop was broken into and a ton of irreplaceable (father’s and Grandfather’s) tools were taken. The guy who did it was a contractor we used. Facebook has gone through my e-mails and can see some e-mail traffic with the douchebag and BOOM! Facebook thinks we should be friends and keeps reminding me. Nope. It makes me mad every time I look at my phone now.

I have a large enough social media presence even without Facebook and if you REALLY want to see what I had for dinner, cute pictures of my dogs, travel shots, or some forwarded rant you can find me on Instagram, Tumblr, or here on my own site – which celebrates its 12th year in September.

~Matt

A deal down at the crossroads…

My boy, like much of his generation, is not a letter writer. While talking to The Ruminator about why he hadn’t sent out a couple ‘Thank You‘ notes, he gave me the – ‘I don’t have any cards and I have bad handwriting’ – story.  I made a deal with him:  I would make him some stationary and cards with zombies on them if he both promised to use them for the aforementioned note of ‘thanks’ and if he would write me one letter a month for two years.  I told him that penmanship, content, punctuation, and spelling didn’t matter.  I just wanted one honest letter a month.   He loves “killing” zombies and so he was in!  I made him shake on it.  To drive the point home, I drew up the little contract below for him to sign, putting Christmas and birthday presents on the line for failure to live up to the deal, and made sure Santa witnessed it as well.

Quality stationary means quality paper.  Like with my own and Stamps-With-Foot’s Stationary – instead of the white recycled paper that we use for most printing, I used 30gram 100% cotton ivory/ecru paper and matching 100% cotton envelops.   I went into Adobe Illustrator and made a green zombie head Victorian silhouette from an image that I pulled of the inter-webs.

I worked on it for 3-4 hours and stayed up late putting it all together.  I had a surprise trip to the UAE come up, so I asked Stamps-With-Foot to send The Ruminator his stationary.  I even included an organizer and special pen for him to compose his prose with.  I called his house the day it all arrived and got an butt-chewing from his mother about how crappy it was to make a 10 year old sign a contract and expect him to write me once a month.  She was not amused and missed the whole spirit and reason it was all done in the first place.  I doubt that I will be getting a letter and no notes will be sent out.  My son will learn that he doesn’t have to keep his word and that not all manners are important…  Exactly the opposite lesson that I was trying to teach him.  We shall see how it all turns out…

My wife’s badass personal stationary

I have always felt that you don’t truly possess a house until either miscellaneous charities start sending you mounds of address labels in the hopes of a donation or until you have personal stationary with your home address.  My sweet little wife has never had custom stationary and I figured that it was about time and it would give me the opportunity to spoil her a little.

Having a print shop or a high-end paper store design and print say 100 letter sheets, envelopes and thank you cards will run you about $500.  Buying a hand letterpress, a couple sets of tin/lead font, paper, ink, new rollers, etc. will set you back $1000, easy.  I am way too cheap and too handy to fork out that kind of dough for something I can do myself.

Stamps-With-Foot loves her puppy like the Pope loves Jesus.  I thought that his handsome mug would make the perfect personal seal for her.  I took a picture of him and through the voodoo of Photoshop, I made a black silhouette image – all big ears and narrow butt.  I dropped that image into AutoCAD and did some arranging and formatting.  I added to that her contact information in a semi-french script font that I designed a few years ago for my own letters and cards.

Quality stationary means quality paper.  Instead of the white recycled paper that we use for most printing, I bought a pack of 30gram 100% cotton ivory/ecru paper and matching 100% cotton envelops.  Wood pulp paper yellows and crumbles after only a few years, but cotton paper with last roughly a year per percent of cotton before showing any signs of age: 25% cotton = 25 years, 50% = 50 years and so forth.  After some diligent searching, I found some indelible archival printer ink on the inter-webs for our HP and I loaded each sheet and envelope into the printer by hand.  A note from my bride should be as crisp and clean for our great grand children to read as it was the day she sat down to write it with her glass dip pen and brown bulletproof ink.

She swooned a little bit when I gave it all to her 🙂

Good laws

Sometimes I get reminded that my job really isn’t that important in the grand scheme of things and that I am a dumb-ass.  Such was the case when I got pulled over for talking on my cell on the way to work.  The police officer asked me why I was talking on said phone and I told him, “because I’m and idiot.”  He nodded in agreement and handed me a ticket for $240.  I am not the least bit butt-hurt about this ticket.  I fully deserved it.  I will not be talking on the phone while driving again and I hope the funds go to schools or the library.

Speaking of good laws: the City of Seattle now says it is a crime (fine included) to not scoop up after your dog.  I couldn’t be happier.  I hate to find a big steaming pile of dog deuce on my fresh mowed grass (it happens a lot) and I curse both the dropper and their owner.  No, like a real curse, not just dirty words, but I do throw a couple of those in for good measure.  It usually sounds something like: “May your kibble forever taste like the poop you dropped on my lawn, may fleas torment you, and my your dog snack on your warm corpse after you have a painful demise alone at home…” I do what I can for the cause…