Letterpress List No. 15: Enter Sandman

Mary calls herself a Ford and Shop Boy a Maserati.

Now, before you start thinking that she’s giving me the ultimate compliment here, let’s run through her reasoning: First, she’s talking about when a Ford was a Ford. Simple, dependable and … uh … well put together. Turn the key, press the gas pedal, go.

The Maserati? Sports car of sports cars. What a machine! Turn the key, touch the gas pedal and it just might fly, so finely tuned that it flits, gazelle-like, in whichever direction you point it, its sleek suspension and steering systems making a mockery of the sharpest turn.

Or it might choke, rattle and stall, one of its fancy systems shot, meaning another expensive trip to the repair shop.

The reason I bring it up is that we’ve been putting in some late hours at the studio, the product of a glut of work — yay! — and the fact that Shop Boy’s other life makes him unavailable most weekdays. Once he steps off that train from Washington, though, it’s all about Typecast Press. No matter what the hour. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind doing it for Mary. And it can be fun. But, dude … every night? One of the reasons my last Tuesday post was a day early, in fact, was because Shop Boy thought he should file it before he died.

See, Shop Boy’s not the type to pull an all-nighter, and by that I mean go too long without sleep. (Please, folks.) Run too hard or for too many hours, Shop Boy begins to break down. Just like a horse that’s been “rode hard and put up wet” in cowboy terminology. Eventually, I’m as handy as your average houseplant. That ain’t the motor whining, it’s Shop Boy. Pffft! Call the tow truck.

Mary? Unbelievable. Unsinkable. Unstoppable. Pedal to the metal. You’d think as she got a little, um, more mileage on the odometer that she would pay, pay, pay for her blithe disregard for human limits on consciousness. Nope. Thus, her Ford-Maserati theory. And Mary’s sticking to it. Sigh.

The other night, Mary bought Shop Boy a cot for the printshop. So, we can all see where this road is heading, eh?


Letterpress List No. 15:

Cue the music. Here’s about an hour of music to rev up your engines for a last push at work or, for you lucky ones, a little, ahem, parking. Most songs should be available at the usual places.

Driver 8R.E.M. (We’ve been on this shift too long.)
Iron ManBlack Sabbath (Cal, schmal. See: Mashburn, Mary.)
Midnight ManiacKrokus (Lock your door. She knows where you are. And she’s got a little project for you.)
Fly Me Courageous
Drivin’ N’ Cryin’ (A time machine, no?)
Devil NightsElectric Six (These guys kill me. Shop Boy and his childhood pal Kenny wanted to be them when we grew up. Of course, they probably hadn’t been born yet.)
Push ItSalt-N-Pepa (Ooh baby, baby, b-b-b-baby. Real good.)
Stop!Jane’s Addiction (Don’t ask Shop Boy what it’s about. He just likes the noise.)
Hip Hop Is Dead Nas (Iron Butterfly rolls over in its grave. Love this.)
Sleep ForeverBree Sharp (Just an idea …)
Jeepster — T. Rex (“If I may be so bold,” this dude Marc Bolan launched a million bands. Odd duck, though.)
Too Old to Rock and Roll Jethro Tull (Speaking of weirdos … a Shop Boy favorite anyway.)
Thunder RoadBruce Springsteen (“Don’t run back inside, darlin’, you know just what I’m here for.” Shop Boy hands Mary the bill.)
MissundaztoodPink (Shop Boy couldn’t make it any clearer.)
Got the Time Joe Jackson (“No such thing as tomorrow, only one-two-three, go!”)
Mr. Baylis
Kasey Chambers (Keep driving. Something better’s up the road.)
Enter Sandman Metallica (The point of no return for Metallica. Great song, but commercial success has a price. Typecast Press hopes to find out what it is.)
Let’s Go to Bedthe Cure (Amen.)

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