Posters

I've been spending a lot of time lately trying to figure out if it’s possible to move away from social media without committing career suicide. It's depressing as hell to think about. It won't be easy and may not even be possible without effectively calling it quits. 

Trying to figure out a plan moving forward has had me waxing nostalgic about a big part of how we used to get the word out back in the day: posters.

I miss the old posters. I don't miss slogging down Hennepin and Lyndale Avenues, stapling or taping them to telephone and light poles, especially in the dead of winter. 

I vividly remember standing late at night in the glowing 24-hour Uptown Kinkos, designing and putting together posters, usually with our old manager, Mark. We'd hand-letter them, copy club logos and photos from books, papers, or magazines, clip the images, and then tape the pieces back on the master version before printing fifty copies. We'd usually print them on bright pink, blue, or yellow paper to stand out from the dozens of others hanging on the poles or in the windows of friendly establishments. This was an extravagance, given colored paper was more expensive, and we were broke. But it was worth it: that sacrifice was likely why we could pack nearly 25 people into the Uptown Bar on a Tuesday night.

The posters were often sloppy or ridiculous because we usually started the process after drinking for hours at the CC Club. What seemed hilarious at 2 am didn't seem quite so when we were hanging them the next day. But the money had already been spent, so redoing them was out of the question. The other members usually left the design work to me, whether out of laziness or real enjoyment of the final product, I never knew. Looking back, it was almost certainly laziness.  

The secret to survival in this business is figuring out how and when to pivot. If I have to return to designing, printing, and hanging posters to survive, I'll do it. But this time, I'll likely be traipsing up and down the mean streets of the western suburbs in a real winter coat and sensible shoes.