I’ve had several pleasant zine experiences lately.
At STAPLE! I picked up a zine from what I presume were a couple of brothers over at TorC Press. It’s called Death Nouveau, and it seems to be about a cybernetic-zombie-demon in a hell dimension who is also a private eye. Or something like that.
The graphics seem to be entirely in ballpoint pen, but the primary selling point (when I accidentally made eye contact while passing by their booth) is the CD that comes with the comic. It was described to me as death-metal-jazzy, and each track on the CD corresponds to a page of the comic. So I listened to this comic while the stereo blasted cookie-monster shouting, and you know, the two mediums really went well together. Now I have to find someone to pass this on to who will properly appreciate it.
I visited Domy books down there on Cesar Chavez for the first time this week. It reminded me a lot of the Giant Robot Store in Portland, lots of very pretty coffeetable books and pretty, over-designed collectible toys. Now, I can’t afford a coffeetable, let alone a $40 photojournalist collection of hot IDF chicks (sporting curly hair, freckles, and light machine guns), but I felt that I owed Domy a pity purchase (because Austin isn’t a reading town, they should have realized that before opening the store).
So I bought a zine that consisted of several color-printed sheets of letter-sized paper (classy zines use only legal-size) and photos of public performance art.
The photos inside are charming, but it ends with an asinine instruction manual for doing guerrilla art. Listen, kids, there’s no point in doing guerrilla art if it’s someone else’s idea.
Yesterday I was pleased to find in my mailbox a zine from my cousin Kelly. I won’t say that Kelly is my favorite cousin, but it’s fair to say that of all the cousins, we have the most elements of taste in common. It’s called "Blarg!" She refers to it as a paper-blog, and I think it’s fair to say that you will probably never get a chance to see this.
She has a number of interesting articles, including a rundown of her "Best Summer Ever (TM) 2008", and photo profiles of local karaoke singers.
There’s also an essay that perfectly encapsulates the feel of a lazy summer in Minneapolis, a city large enough to provide a steady stream of new experiences, but small enough to seem like one’s personal playground. I’m quite jealous. I don’t think I’ll ever have that level of comfort in Austin. I’ve had similar feelings about Madison, but it was always just a little too young and a little too small to be truly entertaining.
