S.R. Wild: Artist and Graphic Designer

Typewriter T-Shirt

I received a lovely t-shirt in the mail from a friend today. I liked it so much I made Pinky put it on and model it for me — she’s such a nice gal.

Thanks for the t-shirt, KK.

What Does it Say?

I’ll admit that I’m horrible at reading people, but I was hoping I could at least read people’s handwriting.

My mail carrier (I’m so PC) and I have been leaving notes for each other lately. I can barely make out what s/he writes most of the time and I have no idea what this note says. Can anyone read this? I’m assuming it’s some sort of refund or a contribution to S.R. Wild Industries — every little bit helps.

Thanks for the Mailbox Love

I love mail. She loves mail. He loves mail. My cat loves mail. Everyone loves mail… er, maybe not everyone likes it.

I’d like to thank everyone who has sent me mail over the past couple of weeks. (Someone didn’t affix enough postage, I had to give my mail carrier 56¢!) It has cheered me up during these not so cheery times. Tonight, I plan on returning the favor by responding to everyone. I’m also going to send something to those I promised. I need a break. Plus, I don’t want to dwell on the numerous insulting emails I’ve been receiving. (You help others to feel good about yourself but end up feeling like shit. Why do I let people treat me like shit? I’m not going to do it anymore.)

In other news, tomorrow is Friday for me! I have a four-day weekend — a much needed vacation. What am I going do? I don’t know. If you have an inexpensive suggestion, please post below. I might dress dapperly and go out if I can find a date, but the gal I usually ask said she probably can’t go — it always seems like everyone has to work when I have time off. (“All dressed up, no place go” is what my tombstone will say.) I might take a long drive to nowhere in particular. I might build some furniture. I might finish my life-size nude-ish self-portrait. I might spend some time with friends — wait, I already said she’s working. Maybe I’ll visit her. I might… face it, I’m just going to end up in The Wound Room working on my website.

Returned to Sender

Since I started cutting down on the internet and using the mail more, the first thing I do when I get home is check my mailbox — it’s become the highlight of my day. However, this evening, I was disappointed to find one of my handmade postcards hand been returned to me. Apparently, the recipient closed their P.O. box. It’s funny, I was going to send a letter today, but I forgot it at home.

Just so it doesn’t go to waste, I posted it here.

As I’ve said many times, if you’d like to exchange mail with me, send me your address and I’ll send you mine. I’d especially like to exchange mail with people in other countries.

Mail Call

Hot on the heels of last night’s report on mail, today I received two pieces of mail.¹ Damn, that was quick. Talk about a plan coming together. I swear, if I really want something to happen, it will — my powers scare me. Now, if only a gal… uh… nevermind.

The first thing I opened was a letter from a good friend I’ve known for many years. I don’t talk to him nearly enough because I’m an asshole and don’t keep in touch — or so I’ve recently realized and I’m trying to change. I was pleasantly surprised and excited (I might have peed a little) to find the letter in my mailbox; it made my day. Thank you kindly JJ.

He wrote in response to my report on disconnections. I’d like to share the first paragraph because he gives a perfect analogy for what I was trying to say — I hope he doesn’t mind:

I particularly liked your blog entry “Disconnections” (?) and felt prompted to write. It reminded me of some Time-Life science pictorial book that had a story of a baby monkey being nourished by a facsimile of a mother monkey. Except it wasn’t a good facsimile, it was a cheesy rectangular body made of wire mesh with a milk bottle sticking out of it, an approximation of a face and the whole thing covered with a towel. It did not do as well as the monkey with the real monkey.

I really like that.

The other piece of mail I received today was a Valentine’s Day card from my mom. It wasn’t much of a surprise; she sends me one every year. Sad but true, the only valentine I got this year (or any other year) was from my mom. Not that I care about that silly holiday, but… ugh, best not to think about that too much. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful; I greatly appreciate it, especially when it’s a real card, not one of those e-cards, and there is a little cash in it. She wrote a note at the bottom of the card: “Treat yourself to some art supplies — or coffee!” I surely will. Thanks Carol, you rock! (yes, that’s how I talk to her).

My blogging time is up for this evening. I need to go to the art supply stores (aka the hardware and office supply stores) before they close — I have a life-size piece I’m dying to finish. Plus, I have postcards to make, letters to write, journal work to do (Journal #6 is almost done), and a never-ending website redesign to work on. If it didn’t have to sleep or work, I might have time to have some sort of social life — nah, I’d just come up with more projects. Hello, my name is S.R. Wild, and I’m a workaholic. Hey, it’s better than getting stupid drunk or sticking a needle in my arm.

¹ If I don’t have your address or you don’t have mine and you think we should have each other’s, email me.

Mail is Not Dead

One thing I miss in our digital culture is the lack of letters and postcards people exchange. You know, that stuff you get in your mailbox from someone you know that isn’t a bill, catalog, magazine, or advertisement. With the prevalence of email and the like, there isn’t any physical evidence that you communicated with anyone. In fifty years, when we’re all old or gone is grandma going to show the grandkids a box of emails grandpa sent to woo her? I hope not. Part of my new Operation Analog Communication is to bring mail back.

Snail mail, a-mail (analog mail, I just came up with that), or just mail — my preferred term because it’s so pure — is often regarded as slow and old-fashioned. I say that’s hogwash. Email, IMs, text messages and the like provide instant communication gratification, but I think everyone needs to slow down and wait.

I can’t remember the last time I sent or received a letter. I miss the surprise of finding a personal letter in my mailbox, tearing it open, reading those delicious handwritten words — It’s sad, I don’t know what a lot of my friends’ handwriting looks like. I have a few letters in a box somewhere that are fun to read whenever I come across them.

I’ve sent (a few are in the Junk Drawer) and received a lot of handmade postcards, but I rarely receive other postcards. Friends, family, professors, and even people I barely knew used to send me a postcard whenever they traveled somewhere. Carol (a.k.a my mom) and Janelle are the only ones that still do this.

During my precious free time at night, instead of emailing, I’ve been making postcards to send. Also, I’m going to visit the stationary store to purchase some lovely writing paper and envelopes for writing letters. If I don’t have your address, call me. In fifty years, I may be gone, but at least I will have left a paper trail.

NOTE: This is more along the lines of what I was trying to say in Saturday’s report on disconnections, which I think came out all wrong. I wrote this in my head while walking to work this morning. I do my best thinking at this time. I never remember it all by the time I get the office and am able to it write it down. I should get a tape recorder.

PostSecret

If you ever need a pick-me-up, PostSecret has new postcards on their site every Sunday. It provides further evidence that everyone has similar problems. Sometimes, they even manage to touch my cold, black, steel-encased heart. I’ll be sending one soon, but no one will ever know — anonymity is the best disguise.

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