I used to write a zine. If you know me, you might have seen Living Proof as a for-real print product. The last issue I finished and actually published was two and a half years ago, now. It broke from the narrative I had established in the previous issues, instead using the emo music of my college years—and specifically the band Rainer Maria—to ruminate on ideas of growth, maturity, and the significance of music to one’s identity. It’s a romantic idea, sure, but most everything is when you’re young. Going through the old Rainer Maria records (and also The Promise Ring albums—those are coming next) has prompted me to go back to that material and see if it still rings true. Personally, I think it does, but I’ll leave you to judge for yourself. Here’s an excerpt from the closing section, and if you want to read more, I still have a few copies of all five issues of the physical zine left. Let me know and I’ll send one out. Thanks, as always, for reading.

Sometimes, when the end comes, it’s right on time. But very rarely do things end when it feels right. Too often the end is a surprise, it catches you off guard, and you’re left in the dust struggling to make sense of your grief. Not as often, but just as difficult, is the end that drags on, milking your patience and sympathy until you’re actually happy the end has come when it finally does arrive. It’s a relief, in those cases.

I received the news of Rainer Maria’s eminent disbanding in 2006 with a bit of surprise—surprise that they’ve managed to make it this far—but also with a bit of relief. After almost a year of not hearing from the band at all (aside from a quick stopover in Chicago on a brief tour one weekend when I was out of town), they released what I judged to be their weakest album ever. After the strong showing of 2003’s Long Knives Drawn—an album that felt immediately familiar to me the moment I heard it—and the extended hiatus, I was ready to be blown away by their next effort. But the clues were blowing in the wind: after hearing the demos in the summer of 2005, Matt from Polyvinyl told me to be prepared for disappointment. Then the band jumped ship from Polyvinyl altogether, serving their final record as the first release for Grunion Records. And then there was their tour in support of the record: the last time I had seen them perform, it was a bittersweet but triumphant set at the Metro, and it felt like they could go nowhere but up. Yet when they came to Chicago in support of the new record, they instead played back-to-back successive nights at the Beat Kitchen, a tiny hole-in-the-wall venue with capacity at probably 10% that of the Metro, better suited to local up-and-comers, not former emo torchbearers who were shifting gears towards a more mainstream modern rock sound.

Those shows were fun, but I felt like the band had lost some steam. They looked older, finally, after years of reminding me what it’s like to be young. They didn’t sound much older, but they did sound a tad disappointed—with themselves, the venue, the audience, the new material itself, I couldn’t quite tell. While I had seen their audience grow steadily over the years, with younger fans catching up with the bandwagon before it took off again after each new record, this time out I felt like the crowd was only there to experience nostalgia: there didn’t seem to be anyone there who was truly experiencing this band for the first time. We all already knew what to expect, we all had our expectations for the band to fulfill. Perhaps it was too much.

An early-morning slot on Lollapalooza’s Saturday schedule and an opening slot for indie-popsters The Format appeared to be moves calculated to expose the band to new audiences, but to those of us who have been following them for years, it felt like one last attempt to break the band free of its tired emo image. I’m not sitting here crying “Sellout!”, armchair quarterbacking the strategies of three musicians who have been playing the game as long as I’ve been following it, but at some point I was forced to admit that the direction Rainer Maria was headed was not a direction I was interested in following. I thought of it as an amicable parting of ways, a difference in perspective, but the reality was that I had reached a point where the things that Rainer Maria sing about no longer figured centrally into my life. I dare say I had matured beyond the emo of almost a decade ago—it sounds trite to say it like that, but the reality is that it is a difficult thing to face the very real fact that the things that had once meant so much to me were gradually being replaced, one at a time.

Admittedly, it was difficult for me to ultimately be disappointed with 2006’s Catastrophe Keeps Us Together—I wanted so hard for it to be the best album of the year. There are some great songs on Catastrophe, but that’s exactly the problem: since 1996, every release of theirs has been consistently strong from front to back. I’d never thought I’d hear true clunkers from Rainer Maria, hoping that they had learned their lesson from the uninspired slumps scattered throughout 2001’s Better Version of Me. The fact that their last record, Long Knives Drawn, was their best since 1999’s Look Now Look Again, didn’t help at all, instead making Catastrophe’s catastrophes even more disappointing.

Yet, when Pitchfork posted the news of Rainer Maria’s demise and farewell shows, I felt relief: relief that I could finally end the charade of loving this band when the two of us had so clearly grown apart, and relief that I had the opportunity to be a part of the farewell. My girlfriend and I booked plane tickets, intending to revisit those sites of so many memories: the Church in Philly and the Bowery Ballroom in New York. Of course, things never go as planned, and the cancellation of my scheduled plane resulted in a rebooking through Allentown, a rental fire-engine-red Dodge Magnum, and a drive down the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania straight into Philadelphia—a route I apparently remembered better than I thought I would have, muscle memory kicking in when I forgot which exits to look for on the highway.

That night at the Church I recognized Mike Kinsella at the merch table, and apologized for the ruckus my students had caused when I brought an entire class of freshmen to the Beat Kitchen to see Owen and Joan of Arc perform. Amy from Pitchfork was wandering around, and it was nice to see another Chicago face in a crowd full of strangers at my old haunt. I also saw a fair amount of people brown-bagging liquor, something I had never even thought of when I used to frequent this venue years ago as an undergrad. We changed that situation mighty quickly after a trip to the liquor store down the block in between sets, but it felt weird—not because this was an actual church, but because I had spent my young adulthood in this very basement, and booze hadn’t been a part of experiencing those shows. I hadn’t come back out to the northeast to reclaim my youth but to remember what it had felt like, and even though that XL bottle of Yuengling tasted like heaven, it didn’t exactly feel right.

The concert the next night felt more like a homecoming: it had been the announced final concert, and the Bowery was filled with fans who had driven and flown in from all over, people who knew almost every word to every song, and were sorry to see this particular chapter of shared experiences come to a close. These were people like me: Rainer Maria had provided something special for their lives for years, and while we all may have moved on, that bond is one that will always exist. The Bowery held a few memories as well, but it was nice to make new memories too, introducing my girlfriend to these venues that had been the sites of so much fun during the years before we met. She flew home early the next morning, and later that evening I rode the subway out to Brooklyn with my best friend from college to catch their last performance, a recently-announced show at NorthSix, the venue that had served as their unofficial headquarters since they had moved to New York at the turn of the century.

This felt like a fitting end. After living separate lives for so long, we finally had a chance to sit down over drinks and discuss our hopes and fears like in the old days. Though we were at different points in our lives, it was right for the two of us to say good-bye to this particular band together. Rainer Maria’s final show wasn’t the last postscript in the chapter of my life that ended when I moved to Chicago four and a half years previously, but in saying good-bye to Cait, Kyle, and Bill, I said good-bye to the type of person I used to be: I said good-bye to the naïve 18 year old kid who opened a new world every time he bought a CD or went to a show, I said good-bye to the 20 year old who struggled to find common emotional ground, I said good-bye to the broken-hearted 22 year old, and I even said good-bye to the 24 year old whose excitement at having the opportunity to share new experiences with a new lover was barely tempered.

We chart our lives with the elements of popular culture that were a significant part of our lives at that particular time. Rainer Maria is far from the only band that serves as a milepost along the highway of my life, and music is far from the only yardstick I used to keep track of myself and my changing perspectives. But their music affected me in ways I’m only beginning to fully understand, and I’m not ashamed to admit that when I needed it most, emo saved my life.

I think most of all, I miss the drives home.

Throughout high school and college, going to rock shows was an event. My friends and I had elaborate rules—no listening to any of the bands’ CDs the day of the show, whoever sits shotgun is required to stay awake on the ride home, and never stop to ask for directions—and the whole thing was an event requiring hours of phone calls and miles of emails to organize. Getting there and back was half the fun, especially if we were headed to a venue we’d never been to before. This was before ubiquitous cell phones, back when Mapquest was just as likely to dump you off at an abandoned junkyard in West Philly than it was to actually get you to the show on the other side of the city. This was also before cultural relativism set in, when my friends and I were militant about our musical preferences, policing ourselves (and our friends) for any inappropriate “popular” music leanings. We misidentified immature proselytization as pretentiousness, and in that guise it was easy to assume the moral higher ground against commoditized mass entertainment and those who fell for it. Perhaps it was our way of striking back at the “in” crowd, whoever they were—we had better taste, and that was more important than anything.

We listened to the best music in the world, and we knew it.

It’s going on ten thirteen years later, and shows are now quotidian. There’s little anticipation, even for big shows, and I’m much more likely to blow off a gig because I’m broke or tired (or both) than back when the lives of myself and everyone I knew revolved around the scene. Sure, I’m jaded to a certain extent, and I bet we all are: there are very few bands left that I absolutely must see before I die, and newer bands don’t excite me nearly as much as they used to, primarily because a) it seems like there are far more of them than there used to be, and b) I now have a larger frame of reference and find it much easier to dismiss new music as merely derivative. But there are also the prerequisites that come with being somewhat of an adult, responsibilities that will only grow. It’s hard to admit that there are simply better or more important things to do than head to a show, things like: cooking dinner, catching up on sleep, not spending money I don’t have, reading that book that’s been sitting on my nightstand untouched for almost a month, visiting with family, finishing work, hanging out with loved ones, and drinking booze in the comfort and safety of my own home.

But probably the biggest change is that going to a show is no longer the zenith of a night out. It’s an everyday event, alongside grabbing a beer with friends, checking my post office box, picking up a new loaf of bread, depositing a paycheck, and watching Roseanne reruns. I don’t spend the whole week looking forward to Friday night anymore. Heading to the club—which is now merely twenty minutes away, instead of an hour and a half—is no longer a great adventure. And there’s always something to do before and after that deemphasizes the show itself. You might think that I take live music for granted, and to a certain extent I probably do—how many times have I justified missing a touring band simply by thinking that I’ll have a number of other chances to see them again?—but I also think that this familiarity has made the music more valuable, as well. Namely: back when heading out to a show was such a primary experience and the focus of days of preparation and weeks of anticipation, the music itself was practically non-important, secondary instead to the process—no, the exercise—of getting there and back, seeing and being seen, building camaraderie and community based on shared experiences. Now, the simple fact that I choose to see a band perform when I have so many other options (both in terms of other bands playing that night and in terms of doing something else entirely) is a reflection of my interest in the music itself, not in the show experience. In other words, when I’m at a show now, it’s because that’s what I’ve chosen to do over many other things competing for my attention.

When you’re young, everything’s a spectacle, practically an experiential requirement. When you’re older, it’s a conscious choice.

There are things that I miss, sure. The absolute surety that I’ll see someone I know at a show, simply because I always see someone I know. The prospect of making a new friend—boy or girl—based on this single shared experience. The feeling that I’m experiencing something huge and important, and knowing that my life is better than that of everyone who’s not at the show. Having that bond in common with the couple hundred other people there. Knowing that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at that very show. But most of all, I miss the drives home.

Hey everybody! I will be cruising along on the Perpetual Motion Roadshow #27 this August, from Saturday the 13th through the 20th. It’s going to be a blast! I’ll be reading from the latest issue of LivingProof, throwing out some classics, and previewing new material. You never know what I might read next! Please come out and support the indie press. All the events listed below are pay-what-you-can, so if you’re poor (like me!) you needn’t worry about not being able to afford a cover charge. If you’re not poor, do us a favor and help out with gas! I’ll be driving around with two other great writers, and am really looking forward to it.

The official press release is below, as is the list of dates. If we’re coming to your area, I expect to see you there. With bells on. And with lots of friends. For more information on the Perpetual Motion Roadshow, check out their website and this article (.pdf) from the Globe and Mail. See you soon!

Indie Press Showcase Rolls Into Town.

Aug. 1, 2005 — An indie press touring circuit called The Perpetual Motion Roadshow is doing a monthly run of the midwest and northeast, with stops in Chicago, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, New York City, Montreal, Ottawa, and Toronto.

Inspired by the models of punk rock tours and vaudevillian variety shows, it’s “fast becoming the best known, and best organized, tour of its kind” (Globe and Mail). Held in bookstores, bars, cafes and galleries, the Roadshow promises lively performances with the guarantee: No Boring Readings or Your Money Back

This month features zinester Andrew Mall from Chicago, IL, crafty poetess Jessica Manack from Pittsburgh, PA, and rock ‘n’ roll novelist Kevin Hainey from Toronto, ON. The tour runs from Aug. 13-20th, doing 7 shows in 8 days:

• CHICAGO, Saturday Aug. 13., Mojoe’s Cafe and Lounge, 2256 W. Roscoe St., (773) 388-1236. With punk rock storyteller Brian Costello. 7:30pm
• CINCINATTI, Sunday, Aug. 14. Hobo Books, 4040 Hamilton Ave., (513) 542-2418. With Nathan Holscher and Diamond Doug. 6:30pm
• PITTSBURGH, Monday, Aug. 15. Garfield Artworks, 4931 Penn Ave., (412) 802-7096. With electronic experimenters Life with Beardo and Humans Are the Worst Invention. 7pm
• NEW YORK CITY, Tuesday, Aug. 16. Junnos, 64 Downing St., (212) 627-7995. With Ken Wohlrob. 7:30pm
• MONTREAL, Thursday, Aug. 18, La Petite Gaule, 2525 rue Centre, Pointe-St-Charles, (514) 931-1919. With poetic comedian DeAnne Lyn Smith. 8pm
• OTTAWA, Friday, Aug. 19. Mercury Lounge, 65 Byward St., (613) 789-5324. With poet Wanda O’Connor. 6pm
• TORONTO, Saturday, Aug. 20. Art Bar (in the Gladstone Hotel), 1214 Queen St. W., (416) 531-4635. With puppet-packing satirist Jeff Cotrill. 8pm

CONTACT INFORMATION:
The Perpetual Motion Roadshow website: www.nomediakings.net
Andrew Mall: livingproof@atm4.net, www.atm4.net
Jessica Manack: jmanack@hollins.edu, www.misschiefshop.com
Kevin Hainey: kevin.hainey@sympatico.ca, www.kevinhainey.net

Bios:
Proof reading zinester ANDREW MALL from Chicago!
Crafty poetess JESSICA MANACK from Pittsburgh!
Rock ‘n’ roll novelist KEVIN HAINEY from Toronto!

• ANDREW MALL wishes the yogurt industry would just come clean about the conspiracy that universally reduced cup sizes from 8oz to 6oz without advance notification over two years ago. While waiting, he avoids stalkers by using an elaborate array of capes, medieval weaponry, and spy equipment. In addition to producing LivingProof zine, from which he will be reading, he also writes zine reviews for Zine World and music reviews for Splendid Magazine. Texas-born, Jersey-raised, Pennsylvania-educated, these days he can be found at various houses of ill repute around Chicago. www.atm4.net
• JESSICA MANACK was born in the year of the Monkey and lives in Pittsburgh. She has staring contests with formal poetry, and insists that “sonnet” is not a bad word. She has been known to cry, as a matter of fact, “I think, therefore iamb!” She’ll be reading from her recent chapbook, Heartattack City, which features poetry about food, travel, longing, and above all, what it means to be a girl. When she’s not writing, eating, travelling, or pining away for something or other, she cranks out the crafts as one half of Miss Chief Productions. www.misschiefshop.com
• KEVIN HAINEY has been reeling in the years by pen and paper since he was but a wee pup. Now a grown hound of 25, he’s situated in Toronto, among mounting piles of his own work, one novel’s length of which, Thought Preserve, he managed to self-publish last year. For income, Kevin writes about all kinds of music for eye Weekly and Exclaim! On stage, Kevin fuses poetry and monologue into something that he hopes is as intellectually stimulating as it is thought provoking and funny; honest words for open ears and blown minds. www.kevinhainey.net

On the last page of Livingproof #3, I promised that the next issue would be out late fall / early winter. So naturally, as spring is finally poking its head around the dark Chicago sky, everything has finally fallen into place. It’s been a busy winter, but more on that later. First, the details (and past readers should be familiar by now):

• A series of essays that approach the nature of personal writing, how I defined “success,” and a critique of mediated nostalgia (picking up where #2 left off).
• An interview with Geoff Merritt of Parasol Records. This is part one of a three-part interview with three different record label owners from the twin cities of Champaign-Urbana, IL.
• The fourth chapter of my personal novella. This chapter is titled “Rehearsal,” and follows the main character on a camping trip to Utah where he is forced to reappraise his early crushes and the relationship patterns they may have put into place.
• Photographs throughout from a hike through Canyonlands National Park.

This issue is 80 pages long (40 front and back) and quarter-page (long) sized (5.5×4.25, like #2) with a single-color cardstock cover and costs $3 (a limited number of paper-cover copies are available for a dollar cheaper). The reviews are still coming in for #3:

• Damn, another guy-penned perzine publisher who can really write. Pure and easy, no posing. – AJ, Best Zine Ever! #3
• Living Proof is an ambitious project, and I’m sorry I haven’t come across the previous editions… It’s hard to conceive of a zine so well put together only having three parts, but this cool and compelling compilation is strong. I don’t want to give anything away, but this outstanding zine will knock you over. – Jon, Broken Pencil #27
• I really truly enjoyed this Living Proof — if for no other reason than its providing of snippets of a perspective outside of my own… Andrew is a strong writer, and an even better interviewer making this totally worth it. – Mike, Maximum Rocknroll #260
• For those who favor a zine that utilizes every inch of its printed space for the presentation of text that critically and analytically explores the self and the self’s surroundings, Livingproof is your goldmine… Indeed, it certainly is rare for a zine writer to offer up, in such full doses and in a single publication, such personal writing, such critical essaying, and even a complete dialogue that seems to embody both subjects and more. – Taylor, NewPages
• [Andrew]’s dedicated, he’s got a vision, and he sticks to it in the face of criticism, and there is something to be said about
  that… If some literary deconstructing of everyday things sounds good to you, pick this up. – Joe, Punk Planet #66
• Andrew uses his insight and experience to write a really engaging story. If you enjoy reading about alternative media or really cool trip journals, or just like looking at a really handsome zine, this is worth the measly $3.00. – Dug, Slug And Lettuce #82
• Ooh, did this rub me the wrong way… F*** everyone who says “cheers” like that. – Marc, Zine Thug

Also, I just wanted to let you know about a few other projects. A new piece was published in A Shout In The Street! #2, a comp zine put together by Jessica of Sad And Beautiful World. Another new piece was published in Sanitary And Ship, a comp zine of Chicago-area self-publishers. Put together by my friends at Diatribe Media with more than a little help from yours truly, this zine is available for two stamps or sixty cents from me. I’ve been writing zine reviews for Zine World and record reviews for Splendid Magazine and spending lots of time working at WLUW. We did a mini-zine fair at the recent WLUW Record Fair. I’ll be at the upcoming National Conference on Media Reform in St. Louis in May and the Allied Media Conference in Bowling Green in June, and am excited about meeting lots of great people and hearing lots of great ideas about how to strengthen what we’ve already built.

That’s it! Did I forget anything? Are you happy these days? I’m looking forward to the summer in Chicago: free movies in the park, drinking in my back yard, White Sox games, biking down the lakefront, awesome live music, and our new cat. Good times my friends, good times. What are you looking forward to?

The summer’s winding down to a close, and it’s been a good one. I haven’t seen as good a summer since the Carter administration, seriously. And I don’t even remember the Carter administration… Anyways, some news in my corner of the world:

• I hit up the Allied Media Conference in Bowling Green back in June and had a blast. Met tons of folks, traded a bunch of zines, and even sold a few. Us Chicago folks did readings in between sets at a rock show setup especially for conference attendees, that was way cool. We also did a panel titled “Workshopping Zines” on the last day of the weekend, and basically sat around and complained about what we do and don’t like about zines. Somehow that ended up being a highlight of the weekend. Oh, there was bowling in there somewhere too…
• I’m now being carried at a few more distros. Everyone, please check out Cafeisme, Echo, and Wrong Number distros for
  all your zine needs.
• There’s a couple compilations in the works in which I’m included, but I’ll let you know about them as they come to fruition…
• I’ve started writing zine reviews for Zine World: A Reader’s Guide to the Underground Press. My reviews should start with the next issue, #22, due out sometime this fall. Everyone, please support Jerianne and all the hard work she puts into creating this valuable resource for everyone in zineland!

Anyway, all that being said, it’s time to mention that issue #3 of my zine, livingproof, is ready to go. This one is jam-packed full of great stuff, and it looks fabulous too. If you’ve read either of the first two issues, you can probably guess the format of this one:

• A 4-part essay on selling out, buying in, the death of MTV in the Reality Television age, and the death of information in the Information Age.
• The entirety of an amazing interview with Dan Sinker of Punk Planet and Bail magazines. This is awesome! He has so much good stuff to say about underground music, zines, the DIY scene, and so on. This man is great.
• The third chapter of a personal novella. This chapter is titled “Genesis.” It follows the main character through a semester-long study abroad program in Italy, and basically reads like a travelogue from someone who’s still trying to piece everything together.
• Photographs throughout from a trip through Italy.

This issue is 64 pages long (32 front and back) and half-page sized (5.5 x 8.5). The cover is a speckled mustard cardstock and
looks fantastic–when I got it back from the printer I was blown away.

Just wanted to let you know that issue #2 of my zine, livingproof, is ready to go! It’s bigger than issue #1, but still a steal at
$3 postpaid. This issue deals with a lot of the same topics that issue #1 dealt with. Inside, you’ll find:

• Critiques of mass media, with specific examples. Find out why I liked grunge so much!
• The second half of an interview with Elizabeth Elmore.
• The second chapter of a personal novella. This chapter is titled “Rebound.” It follows the main character pretty much
  where the first chapter left off — after ending a long-term romance, the guy tries to come to some sort of understanding about his place in life and where he stands in the relationship game.
• Interspersed throughout the issue are unpublished photographs by yours truly.

Clocking in at 96 pages (48 front and back), the zine is quarter sized lengthwise (5.5 long x 4.25 tall) and has a glossy single-color
cardstock cover.

Here’s what some have said about livingproof #1:

It is one of the best new zines I’ve read in a long time. Personal and interesting it captures you in and when you’re done you’ll probably want more. – Lisa, Dreamers Distro

Andrew brushes up against what makes personal writing like this hard – and he manages to back away just enough to make it still possible… It’s a nice fat chunk of reading for three bucks. Worth every dime. – Randy, Poopsheet Reviews

Andrew makes a small but thick personal zine with a distinctive writing style. It comes off as slam poetry a lot of the time because it’s frenzied and intentionally contradictory… If you want to connect to someone and read 80 pages of their stories, get this zine. – Joe, Punk Planet

Coming soon in issue #3: a larger essay-based work on the loss of information with the advent of the information age, a huge interview with Dan Sinker of Punk Planet, and chapter 3 of my personal novella.

Just wanted to let you in on a few quick things happening in the world of the Livingproof print zine. Since publishing the first issue at the end of last year, I’ve distributed about 200 copies. The response has been great, with wonderful comments from distros such as Dreamer’s Distro, sincere gratitude from other zinesters with whom I’ve traded, and positive reviews like the one in Punk Planet #61 and the one up recently at Poopsheet.

I’ve been participating in some readings sponsered by the Self Publishers Events Council of Chicago, and reading live has never felt better. The energy and the immediate response is something I take very well to — if only I had followed my dreams and became a rock star! Oh well, I’m sure some people are happy that I chose to focus on writing at this stage.

That said, I know I told many people that I hoped to have the next issue out within 3 or 4 months after the first one. Now that obviously didn’t happen, but issue #2 is practically completed and will be heading to the printer shortly. However, to make up for the fact that it took so long, I’m doing issue #3 immediately — so immediately, in fact, that the two issues are basically going to be published simultaneously! Here’s the lowdown:

Livingproof #2: Rebound.
Features include more essays on media and mediated nostalgia, thoughts about how to maintain a viable “independent” lifestyle and mindset, part 2 of an interview with Elizabeth Elmore of The Reputation, chapter 2 of a personal novella, and some of my
photography. This time it ends on a positive note! (Hmm, actually on second look, it’s not all that positive.) Quarter-letter, 96
pages, two-color cover, $3ppd.

Livingproof #3: Genesis.
Features include a longer essay about the difference in learning experiences between being inundated with information (in this case, via television) and being alone in nature, a whopping large interview with Dan Sinker of Punk Planet, probably another whopping large interview with an equally important zinester luminary (it’s not totally confirmed so I can’t leak the name but I’m totally excited!), a series of journal entries from four months spent abroad in Italy (this is chapter 3 of the personal novella), and some of my photography. Half-letter, no clue how many pages but at least 40, two-color cover, $3ppd.

If you pre-order both, I’ll put them in the mail to you along with the review copies and the distro copies as soon as I get them back from the printer. Ordering info is the same as it was for the first issue, you can check it here. If you’re a distro, note that I will send you the same number of copies of each issue that you took of the first issue, along with an invoice for wholesale prices, unless I hear otherwise from you. Trades are definitely welcome, and I’m already planning on sending out some trades to zines I’ve been enjoying recently. I’ll be in Bowling Green for the Allied Media Conference later in June, so if you’re there, definitely
stop by and say hello. I’ll be wearing glasses.

Thanks for reading, folks, and I hope all is well on your end.

Hey everybody!
The first issue of my print zine, livingproof #1: Crisis, is OUT NOW and available to order. Issue #1 is quarter-letter (5.5×4.25,
give or take) and 40 pages front+back. It includes:

• Thoughts on mass media and how it affects the building of community
• Insight into the relation of taste and consumerism
• The danger of personal belief structures
• Part of an interview with Elizabeth Elmore of The Reputation
• Chapter one of a personal novella
• Never-before-printed photography
• AND MUCH MORE! (okay, not that much… but still! more!)