Vintage Travel Ephemera

While helping to clear out my step-grandfather in-law's apartment (is that even a relationship?) I was given these gems from his daughter. Disneyland Map, circa 1964; Scenic Wonders of the West photo folio, circa 1942; and the New Zealand Free Lance Annual, Oct. 16, 1939.

Opening the Disneyland map, in particular, gave me chills like the scene in The Goonie's when the boys find the map in the attic. I just love how the creases make their own topography on top of what is already a map.

The Scenic Wonders of the West folio has extraordinary texture. It could be re-created today with Mohawk's Cordwain for the folio, and the nicely textured Neenah Coronado paper for the tinted photos.

Both the hairline and script fonts within the New Zealand Free Lance Annual are back in style. the '30s had typography pegged ... that era is still making statements.

Jacobson's Apothecary

Jacobson's Apothecary is a catalogue of sour home remedies. It's also an ode to my Mom—affectionately, the "witchdoctor". These common cures for common folk include such local medical miracles as:

• Nettles Regurgitant, made by magpies
• Sassafrass Smelling Salts, from the Great Salt Lake, brine shrimp free
• Viper Vaccine, available by the drop
• Quince Flatulence Quieter, offering discrete relief, only 70¢ per cube
• Honey Locust Lotion, with black licorice and chicory extract
• Epazote Con Agave, guaranteed Mexican-strength but beware—contents are flammable
• the beesting-strong Prickly Pear Expectorant is aged two years
• Pennyroyal Poultice, cures a shocking range of maladies: from consumption to avian flu
• Poison Ivy Ointment, for when you been playin' where you weren't s'posed to be
• the good as gooseberries Baby's Tears Balm & Thistle Tonic costs only 14¢/oz.
• Great Basin Vapors and Chloroform, a mere 38¢ per squirt
• The Original Milkweed Linimint, still curing rashes

Look for an updated catalogue in 2010. With the distillery on-site, these all-natural remedies come with a certified "Real-Good" Guarantee.

Pretty Paper

My paper rep from Zellerbach's asked me to design a tag for her holiday gift to area designers this past Christmas. Camille packaged assorted paper and envelopes into a shiny little bundle so recipients can create custom notes and cards. Papers included the shimmery Aspire Petallics; tactile delights such as Oxford, Sundance Felt, and even Gmund; colors ranged from silver, marigold, turquoise, rustic reds, and even translucent whites. Camille sealed the packets with a handsome brown sticker.

The reindeer is licensed from CSA Images, and I used P22 Brass Script ... typeset in brass. Ultimately we just wanted the packages to be mirthful, but with a touch of glam, to match the high quality of the papers. Thanks to Camille for including me. I wish we'd had more time to do something really over the top. Past designers have included the idiosyncratic Angela Adams and McRay Magleby, so it really was an honor that I even crossed her mind.

National Suicide Day: A Celebration

“Except for World War II, nothing ever interfered with the celebration of National Suicide Day. It had taken place every January third since 1920, although Shadrack, its founder, was for many years the only celebrant.”

I’ll let you in on a secret … I think I may be the only celebrant today. Maybe you should join in. The passage above is from Toni Morrison’s novel Sula. I discovered Toni Morrison in college … not by curriculum but by a book cover: Tar Baby. Such a bold title—with cover art reminiscent of Henri Rousseau—my curiosity was peaked. And I was instantly absorbed. By the time I had read Sula and Beloved, Ms. Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize. She’s essentially been my spiritual matriarch since.

Shadrack is a veteran who returned from war clearly coping with what we call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The townsfolk couldn’t figure him out, but he was making his way the best he could. As a method to make “a place for fear as a way of controlling it”, Shadrack instituted National Suicide Day. He would walk through town with a cow bell and a hangman’s noose crying out to the citizens “that this was their only chance to kill themselves or each other.”

By this point in my life I was already leery of New Year’s resolutions. If something needed to be changed—start now. I already had enough waiting in the future. I didn’t need to plan to fix bad habits; I needed to repair them now. Nevertheless, anxiety seemed to follow me everywhere. And National Suicide Day seemed to be a potential solution.

Having practiced more than a dozen years now, what I like about the personal holiday is it’s the one time of the year I let go. Really let go of suppressed thoughts. Things we normally want to avoid. All the irrational things that we fear might actually occur if we think them. I might celebrate by writing down (or saying out loud, or screaming) everything I dread. And then go murder them. Throw them off a bridge. Toss them under a car. Stab them with sharp implements.

It sure beats a resolution because there’s nothing left to do. Yet it comes with the same accoutrements: fear, self-despisal, neglect, guilt. Like all rituals, it makes one feel better. It’s an act of engagement, release and devotion. And who knows—maybe one day after I’ve suffocated myself, shot myself, and burned myself to death, I’ll really be able to start living.

Ode to '09