Last night I watched

Last night I watched the most amazing documentary on the US MINT and its daily operations. I was blown away by the articulation of the stamping processes, metallurgy, coin design and most importantly, their places in our culture. Like the surface markings...the edges, diameters and weights and their differences in say, the hand of a blind person. Amazing.

And man, the relief sculptors. Add that to my list of hopeful future professions. I've done a lot in my 27 years...including a summer stint as a pizza wagon technician in a seedy carnival, a couple summers scrubbin' some 500,000 dishes in the Alaskan interior and designed want-ads for gruff rancher types in Central Oregon. Sure, graphic design has been the most rewarding as of yet, but, if this stuff doesn't make me my millions, I might have to pursue coin relief sculpture. It is so fascinating. I was off to my coin jar, grabbed a handful and my magnifying glass and started studying the different signature markings on the coins. The acceptable tolerances are down to the thousands of an inch...any slight imperfection in the construction warrants the coin starting the process over again with a trip to the "melting down" room.

So add that to my list of good, honest professions:

1. Coin Sculptor
   
2. Long Haul Truckin'
   
3. Saw Painter
   
4. Railhands
   
5. Bounty Hunter
   
6. VCR Repair
   
7. Sheet Metal Scrap
   
8. Tool+Die Sales
   
9. Graphic Arts
   
10. Snow Removal
    
11. Lego Designer
    
12. Wood Cuttin' + Stackin'
    
13. Roadie/Guitar Tech
    

Everyone have themselves a good day, and enjoy whatever profession that you call yer own. Back to the mouse and keyboard...we've got a ton of promotional shit to hammer out.

Man, am I glad the

Man, am I glad the Christmas Holi-daze is over. I mean, sure, I'll have the spirit for a couple more weeks and all, but, I'm glad it's behind me. Usually, the lone rambler in me handles the distance from the parents pretty well. This year was different. Being surrounded by California made things even uglier. I look forward to the day when I can split this place...take myself and my gear back to the Midwest...to a simpler place that isn't as fast. Even though I'm on the beach and this is the "mellow" place in Southern California, it just doesn't feel fellow. Feels hectic.

Booked a ticket today for a trip back to the Midwestlands. Trip objective: Cover a couple Midwest snowboardin' hot spots. Those spots are top secret. The massive snows back there have triggered some interest in the mag. So we're gonna go back and check some stuff out. Hopefully, I'll be able to swing by Traverse City for a little visit too.

Merry Christmas Eve to all

Merry Christmas Eve to all the good kids out there. To the bad kids: Coal.

Another uneventful day spent on the couch...fighting over control of the clicker and blankets. Pathetic, eh? Yeah, sure...but, it is pleasantly wonderful to do absolutely nothing with my brain or digits. The highlight of the day was going to the grocery store to stock up on provisions for the next couple days.

Played the guitar for about 20 minutes of the same ol' licks and riffs. I plug in, tune up and go through about 30 favorites. No, not songs...just riffs and stuff. "Factory Belt" by Uncle Tupelo, tune down a step for songs 1-6 on Son Volt's "Straightways" album, calm it down with a couple Johnny Cash pickin's and round it up with failed attempts at a couple favored J Mascis solos. No dice. Just chords. I need some pedals so I can get some fuzzy sounds. His fingers go too fast. My pinky gets all fucked up in those hi-number frets.

Melissa is miserable too. Cabin fever is the disease of choice on the Factory Floor. We just aren't inclined to do anything it seems. Those freeways offer no solace. The funds are nil, the spirits sore and we miss our parents. Oh well, bah hum bug.

Pat "the eYe" Bridges and Viper Photo's own Evan Rose are invited to the first annual Draplindustries Factory Floor Christmas Supper tomorrow. Our favorite grocery store is open 'til 1pm or something so we're gonna concoct a feast, shop for the rations, clean the house, cook it all up and serve our buddies for the night. That's about as family as it'll get down here for us. No snow either...and man, I've been prayin' for it too.

Off to bed. I think of 20 years back...scamperin' up the steps with high hopes. The night's duties were completed. The meal was covered: We left a Cornbeef sandwich, some cookies and a cold beer out for Santa in case he was hungry when he stopped in. I remember lookin' out the window at the top of the stairs, my nose pressed on the cold condensation on the window, looking up and wondering where "he" was. Even at a young age I was dumbfounded by the logistics Santa was faced with. It had to take him a good 15 minutes or so to drop our presents off and chow down...and man, that was an hour considering stops to Ronnie's, Brent's and Andy Montgomery's house next store. How could he handle the whole world? It was boggling. I remember trying to stay up...not able to sleep due to savory anticipation and burning curiosity. I wanted to see him in action. It was so magical. I believed in all of it.

We'd wake up to a mountain of presents. It was absolutely mindblowing. There would be a note of thanks next to cookie crumbs and an empty glass. Full stockings lined the shelves. Then Mom made us round up for a quick photo...talk about some big smiles! Then we tear into everything...full scale assault! And this was at like 7am or something. I cherish those mornings. Thanks to you know who...

Good night from the Factory Floor.

Christmas Eve's Eve... Especially bummed

Christmas Eve's Eve...

Especially bummed out today: The holidays have brought me down. I just wish I was back home in the snow. I wish I was with my parents. The sight of a palm tree sickens me. Leaving our gated community to go out for some chow earlier broke my heart. I should be trudging through snow...with high snowbanks and warm jackets. Instead I'm just bitter and cynical. I love this job so much. That keeps me down here. We just completed our final issue and it feels so good to be finished up for the season. We have amazing projects on the horizon too. The mag's momentum is building feverishly.

So anyways, next Christmas, I WON"T be spending it down here. No fucking way. I'll fly home to the family. The end. I hope everyone is good and around family. Take care.

Rejoice to the heavens above:

Rejoice to the heavens above: The last mag of the cycle is off to the printer. The final zip disk hand-off was a quiet transaction. No office fireworks or screaming, clapping colleagues...just me and the Editor preparing the FedEx package. It felt good to send it off. We are pleased with the last issue. Kids will be too. That's the goal: To stoke the kids out there. Simple enough. Industry pressures? Of course, they pay the bills...but, we have to stay focused and respect the demographic's wishes. And I think we are doing that pretty successfully.

Oh yeah, Merry Christmas to the 6 people or so who read this.

PRODUCTION UPDATE: We're down to

PRODUCTION UPDATE: We're down to about 10 pages. And man, the fuckers are puttin' up a fight. I can't wait to get this stuff finished up so I can move onto other office projects.

Please check out http://www.houston.com

>>Rob Halverson of Minneapolis turned me on to the site and I spent about 2 days there.

Draplindustries Gazette #24.3 -- Weekly, you bet

1. Housing drama.

Upon arrival here in Southern California I made the issue of "finding ample shelter" priority number one. In fact, the first place I checked out got me excited and I applied. They accepted our terms and we spent the last 6 months in Laguna Niguel, 8 miles south of Irvine. Safe and serene, with one hell of an air conditioner, its chronic, prefabricated beauty has sort of creeped us out. We decided to push on, maybe south to San Diego or towards the beach a couple miles. So on the first we put our 30 day notice in and hit the papers and pavement. Man, those days went by quick…the pressure to find a new pad increasing with each heartbreaking lead. San Diego sounded good until I made the commute a couple times. Hour each way….fuck that. San Clemente, the local's choice, offered inflated prices on beach shanties. Nope.

We decided to stay right where we are at. The bight side: Quiet, spacious, and gated entrances to keep the undesirables out. Still feels like a hotel condo deal though. Oh well. So rest well, we have shelter lined up for a whole year!

2. Girl talk.

Melissa finally got the axe. Yep, her employers pulled the plug on the joint and called it quits. She got a little severance package and a handshake and was out of there lickety-split. Good for her. The lack of daily challenge drove her nuts. One can only sit playin' solitaire for so long, y'know. As much as I'd love for her to make the couch her new job, she has already started the search for new employment. Office assistant leads sound good. The Factory Floor counts on her important contributions, so good luck.

3. Product Review: Alfalfa Chow.

About 3 weeks back, startling news came to our attention. A friend of Melissa's was fixin' to move out of her apartment and had a little problem. Or should we say, "A little miracle?" She had this Guinea pig and low and behold, they were parting ways. Options included: donating him to a grade school, stir fry explorations and letting him move in with us.

We opted for the latter. Almen (the friend) had named him Moe in his early years but after a little head scratching, I came up with a new moniker. Now this is America goddamnit, and to keep the spirit alive, I thought he should have a good, hearty American name. And that is what I gave him: "Earl." Yep, Earl the Guinea pig has settled in just fine. His daily activities include kicking the bedding out of his cage(like a little donkey!), squeaking and exercise, which is organized nightly by Melissa in the living room.

So I'm here to say that Pet-Smart stores carry a fine array of guinea pig grub in all shapes and sizes. Little pellets packed full of energy, granola bar deals and bags of Alfalfa. Alfalfa seemed like a good start, as proper nourishment is very important for his coat, innards and general well being. And man, he is eating the stuff like crazy. He loves it. Go Earl.

4. Cabo-Wabo.

Every year the EMAP Action Sport Division's titles hit the road to exotic locations for their "editorial conferences." In lay terms, it means a big vacation with the whole crew. Objectives include discussing editorial directions, assigning projects and critiquing previous season's covers and content. The whole crew assembles, advertising and editorial, along with Senior Photographers and Writers. This way all facets of the hierarchy are represented.

Earlier in the season, when the location was still undecided, Sullivan graciously accepted our personal requests. Of course, these fuckers wanted to go south to warmer climates for surf and turf. Myself, my vote was for Branson, Missouri or New Orleans. I thought we should go somewhere none of us had ever been, a new environment for the team to conquer. No one backed me. I mean, shit, we live by a beach, it's only natural to desire going to yet another beach? Bullshit. My spirits were low. I tried to squirm out of it. Paradise? For a northerner like myself it just sounded like another week dodging sunrays and being hot.

The verdict was in: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Warm water, cheap eats and lots of waves, man. The crew was excited to relax in the sun. I pledged to make the best of it.

So everyone convened at the office one morning. We loaded a shuttle and sped up to LAX. The flight south was smooth. We unloaded and were met by warm air. It felt good. We arranged a fleet of rental rigs and hit the road for our sleeping quarters.

Once leaving the airport the reality of Mexico hits you. This is the third world down here. Dirty, dusty, hand-painted advertisements and open-air grub ports line the streets. The rough roads led us to our home for the week, two beautiful villas.

The next four days were spent discussing the magazine's direction, strategy, opportunities and winter plans. Daily meetings took place with the whole crew coming together to discuss different topics. Tempers flared a couple times but for the most part, things went smooth. Agreements followed, issues were clarified as hoped for. The rest of the time was spent on surf trips, sleeping, chowing, snorkeling and rallying.

Rallying? Well, take a group of dudes, load 'em in a small rig and kick some ass. E-brake "tests", brodying trajectories, brake slams, peel-outs…everything. When I think my life is in danger, for some reason I laugh out loud. Many moments were spent in hysterics. Sullivan and Bridges piloted those rigs with grace and style, fearlessly, through the property's access roads. Bridges is a pro. A smoke dangling from his lip, seat pulled forward with about an inch between the wheel and his chest, his manhandling of the wheel lifted eyebrows and busted guts. He's a hero on the Factory Floor. Sullivan lost his cool a couple times in these processes, but nevertheless holds a high title in the ranks of "jackasses who thrash rental cars." Tires were popped, dust inhaled, curbs pummeled and engines red-lined to unhealthy levels. Ah, success! These late-night adventures are ingrained in my mind. Next time you come across a speed bump, hit the fucker with full force…then gun it and crank the wheel while yanking the e-brake. And always make sure you get full insurance on the rental rig. Y'know, just in case you hit a pot-hole or something. God forbid.

Downtown Cabo was a interesting scene. Lavish watering holes for frat-jocks and bubbly sorority broads, crowded restaurants, t-shirt shops… We made our way into town a couple times for some nightlife. The crew got intoxicated resulting in boisterous laughs and even a little bit of girlfriend drama. Yikes. The most amazing part of Cabo is the division between the the "haves" and the "have-nots." Get yourself a block off the strip and the lights die down and you feel like you are in one big alley; street cats scurrying, dim-lit brothels/bars, tired store owners closin' up shop. One second you are in the lights and action and shots of tequila and the next you are lookin' over yer back. We didn't make it inside Sammy Hagar's famous "Cabo-Wabo" nightclub. Thank god.

After 6 days we flew back home. I was glad to get back. The best moments for me were spent sittin' by myself strummin' the guitar out on the veranda, enjoying a cool night breeze with the moon lighting the ocean below.

5. Mag update:

We are in the early stages of issue 13.7, the last mag of the winter. Excites stirs as the troops organize for mountain expeditions. Daily snow reports linger in the office.

Well I'll be a sonofabitch if I didn't take note a recent appearance in the offices. Rod Snell was down here for a couple days with work duties and stopped in for a little bit of conversation. It was great to see the guy. Made my day to see a friend in these parts. I wish he could have spent the night or something.

6. J Mascis + The Fog.

My little sister is an audiologist. She's an ear doctor. Once her schoolin' duties are completed she'll move on to administering hearing tests, improving children's hearing impediments and other noble auditory explorations. Melissa and I ventured north to the big city of Los Angeles the other night for some music and damn, I just might have to utilize her services considering the sonic pounding I took.

J Mascis was rolling through town for a couple of nights and damned if I was gonna miss him. Lesson number one: Never leave Orange county on a Friday afternoon expecting to make it north in an efficient manner. The traffic was amazing. "Amazing" in a fucked-up way. I just can't see why people accept this place. My heart was broken sitting there, chuggin' along in 1st and 2nd gear all evening trying to get to LA proper.

Molasses runnin' uphill in the dead of winter has made better time than our trip north. We finally rolled through those Hollywood streets and parked.

The Troubadour is a legendary location in Los Angeles, a past I can't really comment on due to lack of experience. I do know it housed some hot metal acts back in the day though. A female four-banger called "Heidi" opened the ordeal. Aw man...garbage. Best of luck to 'em. I looked over at Melissa amidst their set and sadly stated," Y'know, the worst part is they will probl'y make it." Sad.

Beachwood Sparks came on stage next. Flying Burritos Brothers and Sweetheart of the Rodeo-era Byrds comparisons instantly came to mind. I think of their tunes and see a grainy 1973 clip of film with a happy couple strolling in a wheat field with dense forest as a backdrop. They ramble up the hill holding hands, and fall together embracing. The sun is about at 5 o'clock. Golden rays. Melissa dug 'em.

Mascis came on and reinstilled my faith in the feedback. He's my favorite. Stage presence? Naw...doesn't need it. His peculiarity and mystery makes each movement and note that much better. I think this is the best I've seen him. Watt wrestled the bass with a little unease. He's the sidemouse on this tour and he knows it. See, Watt is used to runnin' the show. He did well though, his contorted, punctuated gestures adding to his sweaty flannel veneer. I was glad to see him up there kickin' ass. Guitar is something that will fascinate me all my life, seeing Mascis again, makes me want to plug in, turn it up and wail.

For Mascis, check out: www.freakscene.net

For Watt, check out: www.hootpage.com

7. Coming events:

• Graduation on December 8th in downtown Minneapolis.
• My parent meeting Melissa's parents. Yikes.
• The end of the Snowboarder editorial season. Yay.

Production action: The office dynamic

Production action: The office dynamic consists of doing whatever the hell it takes to get the pages off to the printer. Yesterday we sent 10 pages of 75 off. Today we are shooting for another 15 or so. This process is crazy. Tuning the captions, colors, photo credits, words, photo crops, navigational elements...seems like we always miss something in each page. We have until Friday to wrap this monster up. And that will be it! 7 issues in a row over 7 months. And man, I'm excited for Monday to get here. We have a ton of promotional products to get to: The van tour, t-shirts, identity...all sorts of goodies to design up.

Back in Southern California and

Back in Southern California and dreadin' the place. Leavin' yesterday was tough. I liked living there. I was happy just hangin' around. The cold was pleasant in an odd way. Before we jumped on the plane we headed off into the streets of Northeast Minneapolis to do some poster huntin'. We found a couple walls, parked and I jumped out to grab a couple older ones. Letterpress event deals...I love the stuff for the process involved. Anyhoo, as I'm out there pulling these things down that cold air is instantly seizing my digits up. That burning sort of cold...frostbite's handshake. Man, it is fucking cold out there. And you know what? I loved it.

Draplindustries Gazette #24.2 -- Doing our best to be: Weekly!

1. California: The Editorial Rant

I'm trying hard to find positive California things to comment on in these fine pages. The job is the saver. Once inside, all the freeways and sunrays are at bay. I like it in here. Computers, tunes, slapstick slander and lots of snowboarding action. In all honesty, I sit here and really have to think about what inspires me in these Cali-fornicated surroundings. Nothing comes to mind. Strip malls? Car dealerships? Mexican restaurants? Los Angeles? Hell no.

Think positive. Oh, I know -- the current temperatures. After a bone-dry summer we are being treated to 60 degree days -- and get this, every now and again: rain! Yeah, that's right. Wet pavement? In Southern California? As if! Man, you'd think these fuckers were on Midwestern black ice -- slammin' on brakes, wet asphalt and oil slicks -- insanity.

With "winter' approaching the climate has mellowed out a bit. The sun is pleasant now. I hate heat. I hate being hot. I hate hot cars. I hate people in air conditioned SUV's. I welcome the cool temperatures. So to Ma Nature: thanks.

- - - -

2. Girl Talk

Melissa has been on the hunt for apartments in San Diego. I'm so thankful she has the time to explore our options. On the 1st we put our 30 day notice in to our fabulous, gated community, but cautiously though. After a couple visits to San Diego and a quick glance through a rental listing, Melissa's eye lit up with the idea of moving operations south. Cool. I'm up for it. City life! Record stores, diners, thrift stores, dirt, and humanity. The Orange County experience has been too creepy for us. The place still feels like one big fuckin' resort. The only hindrance is the commute. San Diego is a good hour from the office. With a little traffic, things can turn into a nightmare quickly. We put the pedal to the medal later on this month. And man, those days are approaching.

- - - -

3. Product review.

The Fellows ergonomic mouse pad.

Oh man, what a difference! Simple in design, muted in color, streamlined in form, the Fellows mouse pad has made my days in front of the monitor so much better. Normal hand-to-mouse action requires the hand to raise slightly to reach the height of the mouse. That tension, even though you might not feel it, slowly takes a toll on the ol' gears in the forearm. I was getting to the point where after a day of doing time on the mouse, the inner mechanics wold be really feeling the strain. Melissa recommended an ergonomic focus in my work environment. A victim of shameful office chairs and hand/keyboard relationships, her limb pains escalated to the point of doctor visits a couple years back. Whoa. So with this little mouse pad raised 3/4 of an inch below my wrist, the mouse gently resting under my hand, the change has been subtle but amazing. In a new world where the mouse is the conduit between the muscles and the screen, I propose personal ergonomic overhauls for all concerned digital worker bees.

- - - -

4. Feature story

Winter Travel No.1: Wolf Creek Weekend.

Early thursday morning Sullivan got a wild hair and challenged the crew with an offer: "Who wants to go to Colorado this weekend? Wolf creek is opening on Saturday morning." Snowboarding? Snow? Mountains? Considering the chronic beach atmosphere over the last 5 months, these conditions almost seem imaginary, or, locked within a beautiful, unattainable setting gracing our pages. All this sunshine and all these palm trees can have an effect on a mountain-livin' snowboarder type. I know they have on me.

Word got around the office quickly. 10 snow hungry scragglers were up for the adventure. A couple phone calls later we had lift tickets lined up, condition reports and reservations for two Minivans. That night everyone greased and tuned their prospective weapons in heated anticipation.

Friday morning. After a couple office duties the clans emerged with bags of gear at their feet. The vans loaded and were on the open road by 1pm. After a little bit of traffic drama we escaped the clutches of the Southern California beach regions with an eastern trajectory heading towards Arizona on I-40. Smooth sailing ensued. Driving duties were neatly separated amongst the crew. 3 hour shifts were dealt in a efficiency-minded fashion. Turns out my shift had some little icy secrets waiting for me. Somewhere up near Flagstaff (spittin' range of the Grand Canyon) the rain came down, then the snow, and then turned to ice. Deep breaths were taken. Seatbelts were checked. Those asleep were woken up to rally the driver. I carried us through the rigorous conditions safely. Relief was felt by all. Our caravan of 2 rigs was separated in these moments, prob'ly due to my granny-like navigatin'. Better safe than sorry.

We shot up through the northern regions of Arizona, nipping the northwest corner of New Mexico, with a straight run north on route 666. (No devilish spirits were encountered.) We entered Colorado sometime past 3am, pulling into Wolf Creek by 5 o'clock in the a.m. You might be asking yerself, "Why does he go into such detail documenting the roadtrip?" Here's why: Because I feel its necessary to document one's "will to ride". All those miles, long hours, trashy meals aside...one little dream to do some snowboarding.

Hotel rooms were gathered. Bodies were decked out with alpine gear. Groggily, we made our way up Wolf Creek pass, the temperature dropping a full point with each mile, drizzle turning to flurries, turning to accumulation seemingly instantly.

Powder! Excitement was in the air. The locals waited in line, anxiously planning out lines down the trails. The crew loaded the lifts and we made our way up the hill. Dismount came quickly. Bindings were buckled and everyone dropped in. Turns were made. Tumbles occured. Googles fogged. Noses submarined. Legs burned. Some 6 hours later the day came to a rest and the clan headed down the pass to the warm confines of the Wolf Creek Best Western.

I think I took a total of 7 runs or something, and man, I was burnt. All those hours plopped on the ass designing the mag didn't prepare me for the physical reality of the situation. Mentally, I was ready to ride. Muscles ached for each adventurer. Baths were taken. Some even went to the local sulphur springs... each person relaxing and winding down in their own way. After a nap we ventured out and had a bite to eat at a local I-talian joint. Hearty plates of lasagna and golden breadsticks were consumed. Conversations veered towards sore flesh and Sunday snow excitement. We made our way back and hit the sack with heavy thuds.

Sunday morning offered a little benefit: Daylight savings. That extra hour came in handy as we made our way up the mountain that morning. The sun was out, the crew was well rested. Action took place. Everyone was feeling the conditions, enjoying the powder and uncharted territory. Performance was doubled.

After riding we headed back down to Wolf Creek, rosy-cheeked snow badasses ready to chow down. The local malt Shop offered plates of food. We ate. Once finished, just prior to digestion juices punching in, the two vehicles loaded and headed west by southwest.

We left at 6 in the pm, arriving at 8 am the next morning. Long hours for some 20 runs down the hill. And I gotta say, it was worth all the fidgety moments in the rigs.

- - - -

5. Job Update

The photo annual is completed! Issue 6 is on its way to the printers! Production on the Photo Annual was pretty painless. Clean lines, clean bleeds. Excellent. That leaves one issue to go: The Snowboarder magazine Top 25 Riders Issue. This is the annual round-up of the sport's top rippers. These "prestigious" honors are bestowed upon the riders by the magazine staff based on ability, media coverage, and video parts. It's a good concept because it stirs up some much-needed controversy here and there. Every kid has their personal list of favorite riders. Snowboarder has gotten to the point where people are excited to see our list. The reaction from the populace will be interesting. 6 issues down, 1 to go!

- - - -

6. Music reviews

Long live J Mascis.

Mascis is back at it again with his October 2000 offering of "J Mascis+ the Fog-More Light" on Ultimatum records. It's been three damn years since the release of "Hand It Over", his final Sire/Reprise release. The time has been painful. I'm a sucker for whatever he puts out -- have been since around 1989. Blow by blow, the album offers another slice of the Mascis forte': wailing, fuzzed guitars, crooning organs, frantic drumming, melancholy lyrics, warm breaks and long-winded solos -- .and goddamn, I love it all. Mascis played the whole album, recording in his basement. The studio, better know as "Bob's place", is named after Mascis' bulldog.

In fact, Melissa and I are venturing up to the Troubadour in LA on the 18th. Mascis will be in town with Watt on the thunderbroom and Berz on the skins. I can't wait. That'll be my 5th time seeing Mascis incarnations. Expect a full report.

- - - -

7. Coming events

Cabo San Lucas, bro! Snowboarder Magazine heads across the border to the southernmost tip of the Baja Peninsula. Maybe we'll hang with Sammy Hagar.

Promotional squanders.

Graduation?

Mom and Dad flew in

Mom and Dad flew in tonight from Michigan. It was great to see them. My Dad is growing his beard out for his Santa duties...he looks like a fuckin' Oak Ridge Boy or something. Tomorrow we graduate. I'm excited to wrap all of this action up.

The late-night run to Mickey's

The late-night run to Mickey's was a success. The Sputnik burger was excellent as always. Snapped off a couple of shots for the bulletin board too. Spent the night at Ryno Simonson's joint. We chatted into the wee hours catchin' up on all that makes our little lives meaningful: wildlife art, Grainbelt brew accessories and Cheapo's latest bargain bin scores. It was good to see the sonofbitch. Today was spent preparing the wall for my work, measuring up the space to apply the pieces. Actually, spent more time chattin' than building, of course.

Ahhh....in Minneapolis and lovin' the

Ahhh....in Minneapolis and lovin' the sub-zero temps! I'm enjoying my shocked, cold, creaky joints for some reason. You have to work each time you go outside. I like that.

As we're driving up and down these old streets I find myself amazed at how 6 months of total balls-to-the-wall magazine insanity can be almost forgotten. All the designing, traveling and general SoCal livin' seems like some weird scene far away. It feels like I left Minneapolis a week ago. Already, I find myself dreading the flight back. Been catchin' up with school friends, updating the colleagues on my Californian adventure. It's good to see everyone. I love school. It's gonna be hard leavin' it all behind.

Tonight we're gonna go to Mickey's Diner in downtown St.Paul. I can't wait.

Scamperin' around the office trying

Scamperin' around the office trying to tie up the loose ends for the graduation show. The flight leaves out of LAX tomorrow morning. That gives me roughly 10 hours. Cool.

Draplindustries Gazette #24.1 -- Now Weekly! (Limited engagements)

The Factory Floor is currently experiencing a wave of "publication fever." The power of print has us in its grips, consuming us by day and into the night. This has been the trend over the summer and will continue into the winter months.

Welcome to an experimental supplement to the normal Draplindustries Gazette. Each month the contributions come in from the nooks-n-crannies of the Factory Floor, are organized, tuned and compiled into the monthly offering for family, friend and foe consumption. We often wonder if the sporadic nature of the gazette's narrative (or lack of) has an effect on the reading enjoyment of you the reader. Do people manage to make sense of the words and phrases? Customer service has always been a concern on the Factory Floor and we are testifying here to insure that we care about these words, and more importantly, the ease of the cognitive processes behind comprehending this garbage.

What we've done is organized the monthly submission into a weekly, 7 category offering:

0. California: The Editorial Rant // Thoughts from Perfect-ville.
1. Girl Talk: The Girlfriend update.
2. Product review.
3. Feature story.
4. Job Update.
5. Music reviews.
6. Coming events.

Being weekly, that means once a week, we have fears that the availability of content to fill these fine columns will be scarce, or scant at best. But then again, this is Southern California and it only takes one freeway ride or cold glance to inspire the evil angels of our nature. Content won't be a problem.

So welcome to the weekly Draplindustries Gazette.

- - - -

1. Drive me crazy:

California! Land of the free? Home of the American dream? I ask myself this question daily...in fact, every couple of minutes or so. And I guess technically, the answer is "yes." But I grumble that with a little bit of hesitation. The actual getting around in all of this freedom is a phenomena all its own. It only takes one hap-hazard lane change or screeching series of brake lights to get my wires tangled. I can't help but wonder what all of these people are thinking in their day-to-day routines. "I'm late." or "Only 5 years until retirement." or "I wonder if she likes me." Ideas in their heads as they whiz to and fro all over this concrete hell. All of these people, living their little lives, coming and going, on the way to work or bee-lining back from it; an army of solitary soldiers on a winding river of concrete.

So with this many people and cars...and much more traffic and lagging, why is it that everyone seems to be driving by themselves? Convenience? Autonomous pride? Maybe I never really thought about it until I got here. Mercedes after Mercedes, Beamer after Beamer, sun-glassed pilots white knucklin' up and down the coast. Vans full of children, trucks full of Mexicans and the occasional creepy motherfucker snailing along in a beat-down rotted Pinto...complete with pock marks, yellow teeth and greasy hair haulin' ass through the Lagunas. Who are these people? Where do they live and where did they come from? Will they die here? Is this only transitory in their little lives?

Only 5 miles to go. And fuck, the radio is broke in the rig.

2. Girl Talk: The Girlfriend Update

Melissa's job is sort of sketchy. Turns out the 'ol gossip mongers have clued her in on some sad news. The company is in dire condition...everyone's job is on the line. To stay afloat the company needs to be acquired by a larger company to bail out the list of problems accrued over the last couple years. The sad reality is that no one is biting the hook. A couple companies showed a hint of promise but pulled out at the last minute. So there is this hush among the ranks...no one will come out and admit the ugly facts...only hearsay. Melissa, being low on the totem pole, mans the phone, which gets her in on all the good dirt. This news makes me very uneasy. She has to be employed. Her bills add up each month quickly, terribly, painfully and she has to keep up her end of the bargain. I'm nervous. She is aloof, welcoming the end of the drama.

3. Product review:

• Sony MD-333.
• $425.00 US
• Good Guys Electronics, Aliso Viejo

My job has many interesting verbal attributes. Our office environment boasts a perverse collection of colorful conversations, cutthroat debates and a perversely chatty ad saleswoman by the name of Karyn Canter. Man, she can make a racket. Her office is a good spit from my corner, her door is constantly open...her sound waves permeate, profligate and masticate every click of my mouse. The battle is set. I tried to be diplomatic and gently ask her to close her door. That worked a couple of times. Funny how a voice can effect yer world. A solution: Music. I needed some tunes, so I went out and laid down a healthy amount of scratch for the Sony MD-333 stereo mini system. Sleek, discreet and packing one hell of a punch, I am 100% satisfied with its on the job. The remote held at arm's length changes the tunes, lowers the volumes to skips for that perfect track with ease. The speaker's output is surprisingly crisp, considering their small size. Sony packed in a Mini disc player too, once I get the time, I'll figure that out and update the masses of its wonders to the recording media world.

4. The Feature:

Branding woes.

The mag needs a new identity. A new logo. We already have a new "identity" whether we like it or not, based on our new team and new directions and damn straight, it's a good thing. People judge books by their covers...and I'm sure that the same thing goes for magazines. Our masthead is tired and drained. The playing off "the late '70s skateboarder kitsch" is dead. We are a new team with new ideas, new designs, a better approach to the photo selection process and the time has come to label the whole monster differently.

This week has given me a chance to explore new ideas for our main logo. And it has been tough. 11 characters comprise the word "snowboarder." That is a lot of word for 8 inches of horizontal space. As I push different typographic solutions, I find myself painfully envious of short titled books like "powder," "stance," "life," "GQ," etc. The monosyllabic words roll off the tongue and allow for efficient uses of the cover's precious real estate. With those beneficial attributes trimmed from our process my problem becomes clearly and frustratingly defined:

11 characters--needs to have a distinct presence on the newsstand, needs to react against competitor logos, needs to work well on blue sky or cloudy photographs and of course, the "easy" part: has to look completely different than everything else in the whole fucking world. This element is the most daunting. So many publications…so many designs…overlapping someone else's type style freaks me out. As I clean something up and present it to the group no matter what style or formation some attribute of the design rings a bell with one of the team, in a negative connotation.

"Aw man, it looks like a snickers bar."

"Fuck dude, kind of looks like "Snowboard Canada." (Or some obscure snow magazine somewhere far way that the average kid will NEVER see.)

"I don't know, kind of reminds me of...(insert subjective garbage)."

Here's the deal. We need the process to be democratic, so we choose something as a team and back it up, ready to stand behind it as our new identity. Everyone agrees we need to change, but everyone is scared. It has been a tough go. Things are lookin' up though. A couple of fonts have excited the clan. Refinements are in the works.

5. Job update:

With a flick of the wrist we finished up the 5th issue of the season: The Todd Richards Guest Editor issue. Sending off that final file officially slayed yet another monster. It feels great to be well over halfway done with the editorial season. This next issue is going to be amazing! Issue 6, the 2001 Photo Annual. We put our heads together and devised a plan: No editorial content. The only language would be photo credits to pay homage the rider, the photographer and the location of the stunt. There would be one page of photographer bios and a staff colophon (due to corporate rules, by law we have to list the team from the interns up to the CEO.) Imagine that, 100 pages of photos. No long-winded stories or reader letters, no trick tips or product reviews...just photos and lots, I mean LOTS of white space. Wer'e looking at the issue as a project...a new kind of issue...an art book like you'd find in a museum. Simple lines, color bleeds, pacing, pauses....the only narrative being the rhythm of the action at hand. Now, this is exciting for many reasons. One, it is gonna be a chance to show off the finest photographs of the season. Jeff Baker's shining glory. He has been stockpiling the most amazing shots from last season over the summer. Two, the lack of content means a simple set of objectives: pick the photos, scan the photos, color-correct, lay the photos out, fill in the captions and send it off. Simple formula with amazing results. We perused the pile of slides today, debating the selections. Four categories will separates the photos: Natural, man-made, scenic and lifestyle. Simple enough. And it's going to be beautiful.

6. "Ryan Adams - Heartbeaker." The former Whiskeytown frontman's first solo effort comes from out of nowhere and has been a welcomed apparition in the player. Written in between Whiskeytown gigs and their failing recording sessions, Adams surprises a leery roots rock crowd with this beautiful offering. Moments of "Exile..." era Stones meeting hushed Nick Drake murmurs shine. The collection sad, naive and youthful lyrics have generated many reactions from songwriter fans. Does he rank with other y'alternative heavyweights like Farrar and Buckner? I'd think so. A hands down great album… very refreshing. It feels like a rainy Carolina day...green, lush and wet with gray skies.

7. Next time around:

10 hungry Snowboarder Magazine employees, 2 mini vans and a small dream to snowboard the Opening Day in Wolf Creek, Colorado.

J Mascis + The Fog, playbook review and pre game analysis.

San Diego: Our new home?