We married off a graphic designer last weekend. Chris, who has survived a couple of pretty heavy romances unscathed since he began working with us, finally succumbed to matrimonial bliss. The wedding was beautiful. The music was absolutely wonderful. The bride was exceptionally lovely. The preacher couldn’t read his notes because it got dark sooner that they planned for. Flustered, he told Chris to “chris the bride.” God’s blessings to Chris and Jenna!
The newlyweds are on a boat to the Bahamas and I’m doing keyboard duty. I haven’t subbed in design for a while, and my eyes are a little crossed at the end of the day. In truth, it’s not my eyes that are the problem. It’s my brain. By the end of the day it’s mush, oatmeal. The synapses no longer connect. If this post is disjointed, you know the cause.
Today I am a victim of the annual report of the Ambidextrous Association of Prehistoric Baptist Churches (obviously not their real name). We’ve been doing the annual report for this group of small churches for as long as we’ve been in business. In fact, neither the customer nor I had any gray hairs when we started this project. We’ve both started marking time by his annual visits to the printshop.
The booklet is always the same . . . a bunch of text, followed with several pages of numbers that have to be manually entered into a spreadsheet and then converted into .pdfs for printing. When I got to the numbers my bifocals shorted out. I just couldn’t seem to get them into the right cells in the spreadsheet. I checked and double checked and I’m still not sure they’re right. Maybe the years of printshop fumes are finally taking they’re toll.
Which leads to another tangent. I’d like to take a formal poll to find out if the printshop fragrance is marketable. I’ve lived with it so long that I really can’t smell it at all any more, but I’m always entertained by the occasional customer comments when they walk in the shop. I think it’s split about evenly. 50% walk in the door and say, “Oh, I love how a printshop smells!”
The others say, “How can you stand it in here?”
I’ve had one rather delicate gentleman leave the shop because his eyes were burning and a couple of high school kids who wanted to stay because they thought printshop solvents smelled better than Testors airplane glue. Is there a market for this? Should we bottle “Eau de Printshop” or “Dilettante Repellant?”
Back to the Ambidextrous Baptists. Their association is a group of some 20 or so very small churches in Georgia and Florida. The statistics are always fascinating. Last year they added a couple of churches. This year they dropped a couple. The parishioners are obviously aging, and the churches are losing members by attrition. There are definitely more deaths this year than new baptisms. A couple of the small churches are down to 2 or 4 members. The most interesting column is the stats is the numbers for excommunication. I’m not sure exactly what you have to do to get excommunicated from the Ambidextrous Baptists, but a few folks do it every year.
If I mark the years with the Ambidextrous Association of Prehistoric Baptists, I’m marking the days until our graphics guy returns. I certainly don’t begrudge him his honeymoon, but I’ll be glad to get my nose out of the computers.