"People don't dance no more,
all they do is dis."

I think these poems might be better received if read aloud by the author, they need pauses and expression. They seem to be quite personal and like most of our personal thoughts they are rambling, incoherent, nonsensical, and pretty much impossible to understand if you didn't write them down yourself. N's effort here should not go un-noticed as there are flashes of quite beautiful imagery and some interesting word play. I believe these scraps could be crafted into some amazing poems, they are pieces of an unrealized larger project. On the last page N speculates that most zines are written as advertisements for ones personality, yet hers is the zine that that statement most applies to. She ends with writing, "i hope this zine was ok for you. its just some of me. it feels good to tell you." Her poems are so obscure that she is not directly communicating/interacting with anyone, just displaying her own random thoughts. There is an audience for such writing so I won't say avoid this zine, but both you and she should understand that just because you write it down doesn't mean it's readable. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [price unknown, 1/4 size mini, 28 pp.] N., PO Box 746, Portland, OR, 97207, anatomyofyou@excite.com

#3. Bob's entire MO (from the "Stop Look Listen" sign on the cover to his "From the Middle Class, I Stab at Thee" tagline) promises gasoline on a stovetop, but most of these pieces read like half-assed homework assignments. We get rudimentary interviews, a superficial piece on blogs, a genuinely interesting (if dismissive) rundown of third parties, and some tepid "ranting." I've met Bob, and he's a smart chap. Clearly, he wants to do something heavy here, but he hasn't quite summoned the nerve to spit out anything unprecedented. Next time, Bob, I challenge you to go for the face. Reviewed by Emerson Dameron. [$2, 32 pp., standard] Outhouse Publishing, 30 Locust Ave., Westmont, NJ 08108. info@njghost.com njghost.com

Argoff loves factoids! If you are interested in Brooklyn and its history, eccentricity, language, and architecture, then this is the zine for you! I had the pleasure of visiting Brooklyn for the first time this summer so this zine was entertaining for me and I think I'll pass it on to my friend who actually lives there (maybe she can impress the old-timers sitting on the steps of their brownstone with some newfound knowledge). This zine features photo-copied photographs and snippets of trivia and info all pertaining to . . . Brooklyn (how many times do I have to type it?) Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$10 for 4 issues, digest, 20 pp. copied] Fred Argoff, 1800 Ocean Pkwy. #F-10, Brooklyn, NY 11223-3036

#2. I've been into zines for, I don't know, ten or twelve years now. In that time, the scene has changed some. For one thing, it's smaller (blame the Internet). For another, it's more homogenized. I'm not debasing here, or saying that all of the zines I go through are filled with bland writing, just making an observation. As J Man once remarked to me: "What happened to all the kooks?" Now it's all diaries by sad sack white men (ahem), lesbian cookbooks, and comics about people who draw comics. With that in mind, I applaud the author of The CIA Makes Science Fiction Unexciting, for putting out something I haven't seen in a while: the conspiracy zine.
 
This issue covers AIDS (acquired immunodeficiency syndrome) and the HIV retrovirus. In the introduction, said author claims that he (she?) isn't trying to form opinions for the audience, but rather just compiling information, and helping "you make your own decision about the argument". I don't know about that. The prose is filled with anti-government slights and mildly-paranoid phrasings; it's evident where the author stands regarding the issue — thankfully. It wouldn't be nearly as fun otherwise. Did the US Department of Defense appropriate $10 million for the fiscal year covering 1969-70, toward the creation of a virus identical to that causing AIDS? As a matter of fact, they did. Then, is there any link between the hepatitis B vaccine experiments conducted in New York City in 1978 (and, two years later, in Los Angeles and San Francisco), on gay men, by the Center for Disease Control, and the first reported cases of AIDS in these cities, months later? Or what about smallpox vaccine campaigns carried out by the World Health Organization in Africa, and the concentration of AIDS in those exact same countries targeted? Interspersed with this type of speculation are documented cases of the United States' involvement in biological warfare and experiments relating to communicable disease, some of them on our own country's citizens. (Between 1932 and 1972, US Public Health Services studied four hundred black men in Tuskegee, Alabama, who were infected with syphilis and refused conventional treatment.) There's a lot to mull over here. As an armchair cynic who's read his share of utter bullshit in zines, I remained skeptical. Yet, as someone whose vice-president appears regularly on television and talks up nuclear weapons falling into the hands of terrorists, I am cognizant of the scare tactics employed by any government to maintain a status quo. (Where's Dr. Emmit Brown when we really need him?)
 
This and the last issue of The CIA . . . both suffered, I think, from trying to present all relevant material. First, the commonly-held theory of AIDS coming from green monkeys in Africa is debunked, because there is no substantiated case of any virus jumping species in modern times. This would seem to support the accusation of homosexuals (classified as mentally ill) being infected by the gov. — "Operation Firm Hand", it's called. But then the author challenges that HIV isn't even the true cause of AIDS. After all, no other retrovirus is fatal. What, then, is behind it? How about a man-made virus spliced from two other viruses, one of which is found in cattle? Wait a minute, I thought you just said . . . It doesn't bode well with me that one of the sources credited is Flashpoint, a zine by Shannon Colebank. That guy is nuts.
 
I know I'm going on and on here. That should be proof enough that The CIA Makes Science Fiction Unexciting is enthralling, if not altogether convincing. The most harrowing section is that concerning medications prescribed to treat HIV, the widely popularized "drug cocktails". Regardless of where it came from, that persons testing positive for the virus are intimidated (and sometimes even forced) into spending exorbitant amounts of money on these drugs is without question. And let me tell you, their side effects are grisly. When one considers the amount of cash involved, is it that hard to believe claims of AIDS fatalities being over reported? Or inflated risks to the average American of infection? Rather, after reading this zine, how easy is it to dismiss the points it makes — and instead just believe everything you've ever been told about HIV and AIDS? Reviewed by Marc.
 
[$1.50 / mini / 32 pp. / printed, spot color] Available through: Microcosm Publishing, PO Box 14332, Portland, OR 97293, abner@microcosmpublishing.com; or Valiant Death, 3337 Poplar Dr., Smithfield, VA 23430, valiantdeath@hotmail.com

(#12: "Small Claims") Unqualified rave ahead. Clutch McBastard draws a 4-panel diary entry pretty much every day of his life; here are the entries from October 2002 through February 2003. ¶ Events that must have been utterly mundane in the living are transformed here by the magic of comics into first-rate entertainment; passages on minor frustrations (often involving bicycles) and life-altering trauma (a death in the family) render real emotions so effectively as to seem altogether artless. ¶ The drawing style is reminiscent of King-Cat; indeed, a panel from October pretty clearly acknowledges its influence ("Wahoo! John P. rules!"). Other internal evidence strongly suggests that "Clutch" works at Portland's IPRC, (home to one of the great zine libraries) and that he makes lots of other zines. ¶ Microcosm has Clutch for 3 bucks plus postage (along with several — cheaper — back issues); the publisher claims to be at tugboatpress.com but there's nothing there. Reviewed by Indy. [About 150 perfect-bound mini pp. no price listed.] Tugboat Press, PO Box 12409, Portland OR 97212

v3#1. I'm a Joe Smith fan. More so with this issue than previously, he writes about abstract philosophy and "difficult" books in a defiantly user-friendly style. The new joint vents, at length, his fascination with Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet (which I finally read, at his bidding), mourns the decline of solitude, and sticks a few newsy post-its on the ol' bulletin board. Here and there, his writing lacks, how you say, "personality," but The Die is a fine gateway to some big ideas. Reviewed by Emerson Dameron. [free?, 12 pp., newsprint tabloid] Red Roach Press, PO Box 764, College Park, MD 20740, redroachpress@yahoo.com

I really enjoyed learning about Lisa and her husband's experience campaigning for former Governor of Vermont, Howard Dean. I think many of us think that campaigning means envelope stuffing or cold calling from a chaotic, messy office space decorated with lots of red, white, and blue. (I personally think of Cybill Shepherd from "Taxi Driver", pretty glamourous!) Lisa explains the work she did (which included waving to cars in the freezing cold) and includes letters written to Dean and her experiences with other Dean supporters. It's a fun but tragic read (because we know the outcome) and I wish more zines existed that documented what political activism is all about, if it were more real to us then maybe more of us would get involved. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$1 , 20 pp. copied] Don't Blame Me . . . c/o O.M. Jammy, P.O. Box 440422, Somerville, MA, 02144, dontblamemezine@hotmail.com

#8. If anyone out there ever wants to conduct a formal study on zine folk — to try and figure out why we're so disadvantaged socially; what's gained from involvement in the underground press; and where it all comes from, the compulsion to waste so much time and money and paper — then Eric Lyden is your man. Just be ready for myriad typos. Fish with Legs has been around for about five years now. (Which works out to, do the math, not quite two issues per year. Are you beginning to see why I so like the guy?) I never saw the first issue, but I remember reading a review of it. I remember a quote from Eric, about how he was twenty-three years old and without an inkling of where his life was headed, or even what he expected from it. I remember because I was also twenty-three and felt pretty much the same, only I'd been making zines for a while. At least I had that. Well, now it's 2004, and Eric is well established in the world of self-publishing. He has (I assume) a circulation of around two hundred copies with this title, contributes regularly to Xerography Debt, and even does one of those overly scenester zines (Fun Facts) where other zine people show their love by way of submission. So I have to ask, Eric, are you feeling better? Is this where you thought you'd be at twenty-eight? Me, neither. . . . Anyway, in this issue, Lyden goes to the Vans Warped Tour, to check out a few of his favorite bands and because, hey, it was just a five minute walk from his home. Fortunately, there is no attempt whatsoever to comment on the music. And I use the word "attempt" because I don't think Eric could pull that off if he wanted to. Instead, we as an audience are treated to the most minute thought processes of this strange man. Eric gets sunburn 'cause he won't buy sunscreen, yet wastes ten bucks on chicken fingers and a soda. He refuses to tip a girl working the merch table (even after she calls him out), because all she did was "simply grab a shirt from a box and hand it to [him]". And all throughout the day, every time some rocker mentions being in Boston (and earns himself a "cheap pop" from the audience), this strange man fumes. (Because they're in Brockton, damnit!) Yeah, I like this zine and this guy a lot, although I can't help feeling like an enabler. Also in this issue: the Fish with Legs Hall of Fame (includes Bill Hicks, the Three Stooges, Judge Wapner); ever-present Fun Facts; and a semi-bilious list of Unpopular Opinions ("Protestors annoy the hell out of me", e.g.). If he could only do something about the typos. Reviewed by Marc. [$1 / standard / 30 pp. / copied, corner-stapled] Eric Lyden, 224 Moraine St., Brockton, MA 02301-3664. ericfishlegs@aol.com

#3. This is what I read when I should've been devoting more time to honest-to-goodness zines. Utterly fascinating, almost impossible to put down. The premise is simple: readers send in items that they happen across — photographs, letters, recipes, drawings, handwritten notes on scraps of paper or sugar packets, documents left behind on the platen glass of the office photocopier, e-mails, bills, whatever — and they're all published for consumption at large by FOUND. As someone who frequently roots through lost & found boxes, this is right up my alley. It's undeniably a magazine (i.e., has a barcode, can be found on newsstands everywhere) but at the same time pretty darn ziney. All of the items are pasted up so roughly that the pages appear textured, and then scanned with high resolution. The comedy and tragedy of existence appear side by side repeatedly, and the transition between the two can be heart wrenching. A young girl writes to her sister, who has just left home; someone prints out case histories of brown recluse spider bites. On the back cover is a note reading, "I will love you my whole life and no other." Surrounding it are photographs of ex-significant others, which have been torn up, cut in half, or in some cases burned symbolically with a cigarette. It's a hard decision to make, but here is my favorite find — a typewritten page sent in by Lea McKenny Willcox, of Minneapolis, MN:

MONTHLY BUDGET
 
RENT      600.
CELL PHONE 50.
TELEPHOE   50.
ELEC/Gas   45.
CABLE      60.
Bus/TAXI   60
FOOD      500.
LIQUOR   600 INCL Bars ($20 per day)
LAUNDRY   30
CRACK    600
ATTORNEY 250
MISC     250.
ASVINGS  100
 
TOTAL INCOME NEEDED   $ 3195.00
               YEARLE INCOME NEEDED $ 38,220.00

I bought this zine at an open mic night here in Vancouver, BC. I'd seen Boxcar play banjo once before and thought he was awesome. His zine is a tribute to the banjo and it educated me on the history of the banjo and taught me about the different song styles. Boxcar provides music to some famous songs and writes about how he has made them his own. Photocopied photos and illustrations accompany the text. It's a charming and interesting little zine. Recommended for musicians or anyone who appreciates the banjo! Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$2, digest size photocopied, 30 pp.] Boxcar, Banjozine@hotmail.com

"A Documentary About Zines in the Northwest US". Not a zine, of course, but a video about them. Best item I've received in weeks. The biggest compliment I can give any piece of art: this is quite fun to laugh at. And in different ways. I found myself mocking to my housemates the tattooed and greasy-haired individuals on screen, sitting on their futons and papasan chairs. Such effort to stand out in a crowd, yet they fidget and won't even look into the camera. At the same time, though, I identified with most every word they said. The stories of scamming copies at Kinko's, being so uncool about it that you almost get yourself caught, and on top of that leaving behind originals with contact information on them. Have I been there! This is divided into sections similarly to those zine primer books that cropped up in the '90s. What's a zine, how to produce them, distribution. I guess that's the most direct approach and therefore the most logical. That is, you should keep in mind while reading this that I have been through all of this myself. What would be indispensable information to a newcomer seems unnecessary to me. On top of that, I live in Portland. (The movie's subtitle, by the way, isn't wholly accurate. I can count on three fingers, I think, the number of interviewees from outside PDX. But I like that. It supports this town's reputation as New Zineland [with S.F. being the Olde].) Reading Frenzy, the Independent Publishing Resource Center — I visit these spots regularly. A lot of fun can be had by someone relatively new to the city when viewing this, putting names to faces and vice versa. (There's a reason why I never post photos of myself here, don't ya know.) As for criticism, all I can come up with is that the titles appearing, letter by letter, under each talking head, were distracting. You only need to introduce a person once. Otherwise, the repeated crediting implies a sort of self-conscious branding. Also, some of the footage isn't the best. David Roche was apparently filmed using night vision. And the shots of the Q is for Choir store are so over-exposed that all we see of its proprietor are a black hoodie and the frames of his retro glasses. Maybe that was intentional. At the risk of trademark infringement, I give this two thumbs up. (Although, FYI, Martin Luther did not predate Gutenberg's invention of moveable type.) Reviewed by Marc. [$8 DVD, $13 VHS / eighty-three minutes] Microcosm Publishing, 5307 N. Minnesota Ave., Portland, OR 97217-4551. 503-249-3826. joe@microcosmpublishing.com www.microcosmpublishing.com

Does anyone really want to read about a woman's toenail fungus? Even if that woman's tits are bigger than her head? This zine is maybe a joke I'm not comprehending, something about foot fetishists or something. . . . Tolbert directs you to a website for more information but I say, "why bother?" Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [25¢, 1/4 size mini, 11 pp.] Yul Tolbert, Timelike Line Publications, PO Box 02222, Detroit, MI 48202-9998, yul_tolbert@yahoo.com, the aforementioned website: www.timeliketoons.tripod.com/lpd

#1, June '04. Gardening zine by a guy who'd like to be more enthused about horticulture than he is. Evidence of such comes in the form of a lofty introduction. For thirteen hundred words, Dan criticizes his neighbors for letting their garden go to grass. He envisions an epic man-loves-tractor movie, yet can't get beyond the first scene. And when it's all over with, and we're welcomed at long last to this first (and final?) issue, it's three quarters over with. All that follows are a few entries of a gardening journal (in which his niece and nephew stamp through a freshly-planted row of chives), a book review, and web sites that might be of interest to the reader. All in all, it ain't bad, but Dan could've done well to develop further. Or, if metaphors are your thing, the inspiration for this zine was an acorn. It sprouted and just saw the light of day, before being obliterated under the tread of a mountain bike. Reviewed by Marc. [one stamp / mini / 6 pp. / copied] Dan Murphy, PO Box 6352, Boise, ID 83707. messyelephant@hotmail.com

#2: Rebound. Ninety-six pages people! It took some time reading this chunk of a zine. Andrew has included essays on such things as teen dramas, grunge, multiple car crashes accompanied by the same band's music on the car stereo, rare encounters with girls who notice him, etc. . . . also an interview and the beginning of a novella. It's a hearty read but entertaining all the way through. Andrew is thoughtful, searching and often quite amusing. Well-designed zine, worth the price. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$3 or trade, 1/4 size mini, 96 pp.]
 
#3. Ooh, did this rub me the wrong way. How should I list the reasons? For your sake and, more importantly, for the sake of the creator, let's approach this systematically. I give you the five intolerable offenses of this Living Proof: (1) The correspondence that came enclosed with the zine. I get these all the time. "Dear Mr. Parker, please review my such and such. The price is this, my web site is blank, I do/don't accept trades." They are for the most part unnecessary — as long as the same info appears somewhere in the zine — but rarely bothersome. The mail-merge form letter that Andrew sent, however . . . He goes on for a full page about his publishing history, distribution, and even includes advance praise for the issue at hand. I don't give a damn if A.j. Michel said yours is the best personal zine she's ever seen, or if she went through it with a highlighter pen. You gotta let the product speak for itself, kiddo. (2) The article on reality TV. It's so summer of 2000. I don't gain anything from your thoughts on "community", my friend. You are no social scientist — especially when there's cable in that hovel you share with three other dudes. (3) The way-too-long interview with Daniel Sinker, publisher of Punk Planet. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy the heck out of his magazine. And I found it fascinating, the convoluted criteria the man subjects to anything featured therein, to determine if a band or a record label is still independent enough. The inner workings of the mag were similarly fun to read about. But the widely-spaced items of interest are undermined (or simply lost) as the conversation drags on. Andrew even addresses the extended nature of the piece in his introduction, writing: "this is really quite big, so if you hate reading interviews you should probably put this issue down right now." How considerate of the reader! Now, listen. I know you had the time of your life visiting the Punk Planet offices, chatting with such a cool older guy, then transcribing the entire ninety-minute cassette in the weeks to come. I know it made your day, that he swept the floor just 'cause you were coming over, and you think we'd like to read about that, too. I'm sorry, but we don't. It's overly amateurish. Maybe if your zine were photocopied, I would understand not cutting a single word from the discussion, but it's obvious you put a lot of money into this. Everyone will be a lot better off if, next time, you consider my advice. Clean that shit up, man. (4) The rest of the issue, i.e., "Part Three of a personal novella". I actually just skimmed this. But I read the second chapter, in #2, and found it so wistfully naive that my stomach literally turned. "All I want is a girl to admire the punk rawk patches on my couch", or something. In this issue, he travels to Europe. I'm nauseous all over again. (5) This one's a tie. I detest the desktop-published layout — how Andrew punches what he considers to be key lines by increasing the type size and making the words bold. (It's really annoying in the Sinker interview.) But just as much, I cannot stand the last paragraph of his introduction:

"All of my pieces are dated [printed big and bold]. This one's from Summer 2004. Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed the journey thus far, and thanks to you for reading. Cheers."

(## 39, 40; March & June 2004). Pretty god-awful. Cartoonist Michael Goetz has been cranking out these short collections of one-panel gags for years but they never get any better. Mostly they're lame puns ("Lookout for plastic dogs who styrofoam at the mouth"). The issues at hand have taken a turn to "adult" material (if I recall correctly: I'm not going to hunt up earlier issues, but I seem to remember that those were somewhat more G-rated) . . . it doesn't make 'em any funnier. A guy uses a "cum"puter to view sex sites on the internet, for example. Somebody stop me. ¶ Each issue features two very short reviews (books & records). He's asking 2 stamps or a trade. But if you do a zine that's at all widely reviewed, all you have to do is wait: he'll be in touch. Reviewed by Indy. [16 mini pp. each.] Michael Goetz, 1340 Brandywine Dr., Rockford IL 61108.

What's your take on esoterica? I can appreciate it in doses. (The artwork of Andrew Penland comes to mind.) But for there to be any genuine liking, you have to give me something, a scrap of real life pushed into a corner maybe. Let me think I'm catching a glimpse of the creative process, even if it's a put-on. Incoherence is not enough. This is a zine of poetry, by one Justin Nathaniel Katko, with drawings by same. I didn't get into it at all — although believe me, I tried, reading the verses aloud to find rhythm. I don't think it's there. No poem written later than the nineteenth century should ever begin with an "oh", and some of the word play made me wince. ("Life Abundant sucked dry / like a patient etherised upon a table / of raw asphalt, of which no One of Us is / atphalt.") The subject matter deals with terrorists, 9/11. Isn't it time we all moved on? And just because you're making a zine, there's no rule that you have to rail at big corporations. Really. One on hand, this only costs a buck. I respect the author for working with a dying art form (poetry, I mean, not zines). On the other, this is just me being nice. Reviewed by Marc. [$1 / digest / 56 pp. / copied] Justin Katko, 201 E. Chestnut #311, Oxford, OH 45056. katkojn@muohio.edu

Issue #4, The Internal Cataclysm Issue. Families are nuts! Hannah writes about her family and the minor incidents that become major scandals with keen, sardonic humor. I loved her recommended reading list and her reviews. Not many of us think to read books about child psychology, parenting, and home schooling until we have kids but Hannah made me realize that I could better understand my own upbringing and educational failings by reading such books. My favourite parts of Misfit were "A Match Made In Heaven" which is a funny discourse between two people who just really don't want to be single anymore and "A Vomit Diary" which is almost unbelievable (I think she's maybe broken a record for number of times a person can puke in a certain period of time — eek!) I liked this zine, it's not every day that you read a zine written by a mom that's funny! Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$4 or $11 for 3 issues, 28 pp. copies, colour cover] Hannah Eye, 105 Wilkin St. #2, St. Paul, MN 55102, misfitzine@yahoo.com

(#6; Summer 2004) This has to be just about the zine-iest zine I've come across since I quit answering my mail. Oh, yeah: the fine arts of psychedelic-poster doodlin', icon-ridiculin', destruction-glorifyin', cussword-lovin' an' text-against-random-background pastin' are in full effect. Zine reviews? Hell, yes: everybody knows there's nothing cooler than that. Comix? — sure!: pro-drugs and pro-choice, and with a story no less, in four quick pages (that manage to cram in Oompa-Loompas along the way). ¶ Don't get me wrong, though. It's not all about the "look" of the thing: there are well over a thousand words of worthwhile reading here too. If I ever get up off my dead ass and publish anything, I'd be proud to trade with (MA editor) Joe Unseen. Reviewed by Indy. [28 digest pp. $1 ppd.] PO Box 494, Brewster, NY 10509

I absolutely cringed when I saw the cover of this magazine. What has Marc sent me?! With teasers such as "Car Crashes, Ghosts, Murder, Satanists, Suicide . . ." and a photo of a skeleton propped up next to a mirror this magazine looked to me, at first, as being totally whack. Once I delved in though, it didn't take long for me to appreciate its genius.
 
Morbid Curiosity contains true stories from amateur writers about events in their lives that are "unsavory, unwise, unorthodox, or unusual". What it accomplishes is investigating taboos, giving us fresh perspectives, shocking us and educating us; it's really like no other magazine I've seen. One story is written by a man who murdered his girlfriend, spent time in jail and now that he's out he has learned how to deal with his rage. Another story is about a young woman dj and her call-in stalker. And then there's the one about blood drinking! Some stories were better than others, but all were highly interesting. Reviewed by Kelly Froh.
 
[$6, 112 pp. professionally printed and bound] Morbid Curiosity, Automatism Press, Editor Loren Rhoads. P.O. Box 12308, San Francisco, CA, 94112-0308, morbid@charnel.com

#131. Let me tell you something, in all seriousness: I absolutely love Latinate plurals. Do you know what I'm talking about? "Stratus" becomes "strata", "medium" to "media". If "asyla" comes up in the course of a crossword puzzle, my day is made. The title of this zine, I will admit, makes me swoon. But the attraction ends there. . . . Once upon a time, I dated a girl from Dallas, who actually knew of this Tom Hendricks. She described him as some old dude, who hung perpetually in front of a movie theater, pushing his zine on teen-aged girls. I can see that. Musea has been around for ages, and regularly gets crazy respect from old time zine people — for its unwavering stance against "corporate art". This confuses me. Every issue that I've seen, previous to this one, has seemed corny to no end. But for reasons I can't recall. Let's call it corny and forgettable, then. This issue, though, is just a bunch of trivia — innocuous, if rather pretentious. (Sample question: "Who wrote an entire novel without using the letter 'e'?" Answer: "French writer George Perec in his novel 'A Void' or 'La Disparition'." I wouldn't recommend whipping it out at a dive bar, and I say this from experience.) No, it wasn't until the back page that I remembered why I always find Musea so distasteful. Tom has a review site at which he offers his expert opinion for $3 a pop. That's right, the guy says why submit your art to a hundred different outlets? For three clams you can have an "HONEST" review, which he promises to (1) post on the alt.zines news group ("accessed through google groups"!) and then (2) copy onto his personal web page. Get out of town! He's been pitching the idea for years, with understandably limited success. In fact, the sheer preposterousness of the arrangement prompted me to create this site, and our unofficial motto: "Zinethug.com — we'll make fun of you for free". Reviewed my Marc. [free / half-legal / 8 pp. / copied] Tom Hendricks, 4000 Hawthorne #5, Dallas, TX 75219. tomhendricks474@cs.com musea.digitalchainsaw.com

(Issue No. Minus (-) 6) Far too many "Family Circus" & "Dennis the Menace" comics with rewritten captions (few of them at all funny). Moreover, this is a regular feature. The five pages of original comics, on "the missing years" of a certain coke fiend AWOL from the Vietnam-era National Guard, I found much more entertaining despite their very crude barely-a-beginner drawing style. ¶ My other favorite feature was the extensive Letters! section: xeroxes of handwritten notes from all over the zine map, with typewritten comments from the editor (and sketches by Shannon Wheeler & Johnny Ryan). The rest is mostly about music from throughout the author's life: an appreciation of MC5, show reviews for Texas Terri, The Riverboat Gamblers, and Little Steven's Underground Garage Festival, for example. There's a piece on "Frat Boys" (disapproving) and quite a bit of Bush-bashing (it's the "Special Election Issue"). Pretty entertaining overall; worth a trade. Reviewed by Indy. [34 side-stapled pp. "Price: Tea in China" (try $2).] MFIA!, PO Box 65391, Washington, DC 20035

By Mark Plaid and others. Finally! A set of zines targeted at men who think necrophilia is hilarious! These comics are horrendously awful. Someone must have encouraged these guys to transfer the doodles they did on their desktops in 6th grade and compile them into a comic book. That being said, I do actually believe there is an audience for these comics and if you are/were a punk rocker in need of their G.E.D, you like to hang out next to 7-11 and drink forties, or if you are titillated by the sight of a crudely drawn naked woman beating up a huge alien brain then you will likely enjoy these comics. There's something for everyone out there, that's just one of the many great things about America (and the underground press!). Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [50¢ - $1, sizes varied, copied] Ghoulstomper, P.O. Box 8793, Toledo, OH 43623, ghoulstomper@yahoo.com

#13. Had I seen this earlier, I may have stuck with piano lessons and never gone near zines. All the pointless egomania, contrived 'tude, shaky, unedited prose, and unimaginative subject matter that keep most of my friends from a giving a fuck about anything self-published? Philman's still got it, in flush spades. The intro essentially apologizes for how much the balance of the zine is going to suck, which is odd, considering the editor's documented e-mail catfight with one reviewer who didn't like it. (Save it, pal; to invoke Andre 3000, I'm, uh . . . I'm . . . just bein' honest.) This zine hates capitalism because it costs money to fix a leaky faucet. It hates "corporate radio" because its editor is too lazy to change the fucking station, much less fix his own typos. It hates Minnesota because, for one thing, its editor can't find his socks. All the lonely bellyaching must've rubbed off on me, because, right now, I hate this zine, and I don't know that I'm so crazy about zines in genereal. Fuck you, Marc. You owe me a beer. Reviewed by Emerson Dameron. [$2, 19 pp., standard, corner-stapled] Phil Shill, 636 Hall Ave., St. Paul, MN 55107

#9. I've been a fan of Shovel Bum since it began and not because I'm an archaeologist but because I love zines that teach you things you wouldn't otherwise know! Seriously, what do you know about archaeology? That preppy dude on Friends was one right? Wrong! de Boer and friends illustrate the tricks of the trade and you'd be surprised, it's not all about digging for dinosaur bones. Nice overall design, crude yet cute comics, funny stories and music reviews fill this issue. Shovel Bums, as it turns out, are great bowlers, bargain shoppers, mechanics, conversationalists, and they eat strange things! Get to know them, you'd be amazed! Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$2, digest, 20 pp. copied, back issues available] Trent de Boer, 920 E. Bay Dr. NE, #2D-301, Olympia, WA 98506, dutchcircus@hotmail

#12. A split effort by two sisters. I ate this one up. JJ is prone to brood and level-headed, while at times Leslie appears absolutely sociopathic. There is talk of her leaving a queen-sized bed in the middle of her front lawn, and after reading about her behavior one night at a night club, where a group of women were holding a bachelorette party, I don't think I would ever go out in public with her again. (The woman has children, mind you, yet during the evening in question — among many other things — attaches herself to a conga line and starts thrusting away at the ass of some old biddy. I think I'm in love!) But for JJ, such a display is par for the course, apparently. What a saint she is to care for her insane sister like that — never mind that she tutors inner city kids and works at a home for autistic people. A zine with personality and personality disorder alike, most highly recommended. Reviewed by Marc. [$? / digest / 28 pp. / copied, color cover, handmade] PO Box 4539, Fairview Heights, IL 62208.

#0. She's cynical. She's intense. She's got a bandage on her knee. She hangs tough in the face of social humiliation, and before day's end, she convenes with the supernatural. Everything seems so huge when you're a teenager, and so shitty. I wonder if you have to preserve that feeling to write a believable teen protag, or if you write teen protags because that feeling never fully dissolves. The gent behind this sleek comic book succeeded either way, and I hope it was worth it. This issue comes with a CD, which Marc kept. No hard feelings, boyo; between her carnival job, her philandering beau and her friend no one else sees, I doubt our Evie has time to nurture interesting musical taste. Reviewed by Emerson Dameron. [$5.50, glossy comic book, colored]
 
#1. By Michael Cavallaro. It's always hard to start reading a comic series after missing the first issue. This professionally printed comic is about a young girl who is repressed by her family and small town who comes into her own when a hostile spaceship lands near her home and a girl ghost follows her around and encourages her to take action. It's very well drawn and the printing is of course quite slick. I think the comic suffers slightly from its following of a hero/heroine formula but it's probably too soon in the series to write this comic off as unoriginal. People who grew up reading superhero comics will appreciate this comic more than the people who read zines for their personal content. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$3.50, colour cover, glossy, 18 pages.] True Believers Press, P.O. Box 974, New Brunswick, NJ 08903

(issue 1). This "Montréal-based literary magazine" qualifies easily in my mind as a zine (as opposed to, e.g., a "little" magazine or a chapbook). Just the same, various features mark it as very Canadian. For example . . . ¶ It's distributed in, not only cafés all over town, but also in actual bookstores. The prose — in every single piece — is not only readable (which is unusual enough in itself), but correctly edited. And there's this, uhh, confidence, or, umm, I don't know, lack of bitterness that, well (and I'm just spitballing here), might just maybe come from living in a society that values its artists rather than seeking to (choose one or more) co-opt or trivialize or imprison or destroy them when it doesn't just outright drive 'em crazy. It should also be remarked — though this is much less unusual — that the graphics (drawn, painted, or photographed [all reproduced in monochrome, of course]) are very clearly created and selected with care. ¶ So. I'm very pleased to congratulate 'em on an impressive first issue . . . but, sorry, I don't care if I ever see another. For "literary", I've got thousands of years of actual literature available; and gorgeous graphics are (not only not hard to find but) a glut on the market. I suppose it comes down to this: make me feel something or get off the pot. 16 contributors listed; scattered (worthwhile) ads. Reviewed by Indy. [20 half-legal pp.] STATIONÆRY, 4456 Avenue de l'Hôtel-de-Ville, Montréal, Quebec.

So you've noticed some changes in the lineup here, have you? I lost some reviewers, added a couple more. Because I'm amused by such low-grade spitefulness (and so are you), how 'bout I fill everyone in.
 
Going way back, the first person I cut was my old roommate, Racheal. This was more or less because she had a journalism degree. Not that there was anything terribly lacking in her style. I just decided, after her, to only invite people who are actually involved with zines to review for me. Otherwise, you can have someone fawning over the medium itself for a couple hundred words. (I.e.: "Wow. So some guy in Minnesota sat down at his typewriter, filled ten pages with his innermost feelings, then made a bunch of copies and mailed them all off to people around the country he's never met? How cool is that!") It was a matter of proximity, anyway, that I asked Racheal aboard, just like the handful of times that we drunkenly made out. I don't think she was fazed by either arrangement ending. As for the rest . . . J Man simply burned out, sending back my last batch of zines with a polite note of resignation. I can totally understand, and let me take this opportunity to publicly thank him for two years of acerbic commentary. He really helped me get this site off the ground. The same goes for thrill racer. At the time of my writing this, her status is officially "flaked out", but I don't hold a grudge. I know she just went back to school. Her reviews were always a pleasure to read, and I think if I get in the mail to her a self-addressed, stamped flat rate envelope, my zines shall be returned. So, thrill racer, if you're reading this, we're cool.
 
Rich Mackin, however, just didn't get it. Originally, I asked him to join the staff because I enjoy his zine; because we moved to Portland in the same week; and because, at the time, he was being shunned by the zine community at large. My kinda character. Unfortunately, none of this translated into competent material. When I'm sending someone their first assignment, I keep it small — three or four titles. If I'm happy with what I get back, then I'll start giving them a fair share. There is a reason why Rich was barely featured here, yet I kept him on. His swan song I consider to be the extended critique that he wrote of Media Whore #2, in the last update. Go back and read it now. I intentionally did not edit his onslaught one iota, because I find it hilarious how he misuses the word "tote" in place of "tout" — twice. This perplexed me for a couple days, until I finally realized that it was attributable to a Bostonian accent. Exquisite! I knew then that I'd be cutting him loose, but there remained the matter of the indie comic compilation, under which this rant is headed. I sent Rich Swell along with Media Whore and . . . something else. He never got back to me on it. Not one to cast the first stone, I let the matter lie. But then I received an e-mail from Mackin, asking if I was interested in any random reviews he happened to write. I said sure, I always encourage reviewers to write-up items beyond those I send. But what about those that I did send, specifically Swell? It was a softcover book, after all, surely deserving of some mention. I give you his reply:

Hmm, if I recall correctly, I was pretty underwhelmed by it and found it fairly mediocre, and generally I try not to review independent stuff unless I can either praise it or at least give it a constructive review (In that if someone spends all their free time crafting a labor of love, I don't want them to see someone trash it, but don't want to encourage anyone to get it, either)

This little 6 page zine contains weird little rhyming poems by Rick Bradford accompanied by drawings by Jim Siergey. It's pretty forgettable and I know these guys can do so much better. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [Price unknown, 1/4 size mini. colour cover. 6 pp.] Poopsheet Foundation, PO Box 2235, Fredericksburg, TX 78624.

The first story in this comic, entitled "You Go Girl" was a little too crude for me, like I felt ill reading it. It's about a night of trashy excess by three bi-sexual dumpster diving moochers. Lots of drinking, vomiting, and sloppy oral sex. Sounds good so far, no? There are four stories in all with a stunning centerfold. Overall, this comic isn't going to get Warren any dates but we all know that can never really be the goal of a cartoonist. (In fact, they have to be at least a little pathetic to motivate them to stay at home and draw!) Warren is a very talented cartoonist, with a flawless eye for perspective and attention to detail. His stories arise from a bitter place, a place perhaps a lot of young males can relate to. I foresee the 17-24 year old crowd gathering around reading this and saying aloud, "Yeah . . . women are such bitches . . . and for like, no reason whatsoever!", "Yeah man, now pass the Colt 45." Warren is one of those people whom you hope catches a break, just to see what he would draw if were happy. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$2?, half-legal size, 20 pp. copied] Chris Warren, chriswarren00@hotmail.com

#11. What an outstanding issue. Sean and I first met in June of 2002, at the Underground Publishing Conference (back when it was called such) in Bowling Green, Ohio. He was living in South Carolina at the time. I'd driven up from Oklahoma. Our first encounter was at the Zine World table, which I approached sheepishly, having flaked on its editor a year prior. Luckily, instead of Jerianne, it was Sean and his wife Malinda volunteering at that moment in time, and I walked away with issue #9 of Thoughtworm. Didn't read it till I was back home, however. So that night, when my friend Melissa chatted up the married couple at a bowling alley, I didn't feel like I knew them all too well and wandered off. But what I'm wondering here is, if I had read his zine by the evening's social function, would it have gone any differently? By the next year, August 2003, I'd relocated to Oregon, while Sean had finished (library) school and found a job in northern Texas. In the elapsed time, we'd traded for a couple back issues each, exchanged letters and e-mail, and become somewhat acquainted. Yet when we saw one another at the Portland Zine Symposium, again, what was there to say? I handed over my two bucks for his newest, made a quick trip 'round the room, then got the heck out of there. That night at work, though, I read the zine cover to cover. Some people's writing you just relate to indescribably. Now skip ahead another year, to June 2004. For this past Zine Symposium I actually volunteered, and worked the information booth a couple hours each day. With all that hanging around, I could've stayed a while at Sean's table, instead of just long enough to pick up this issue. But, alas, this is how I am — one doesn't choose to communicate best through words written.
 
Anyway, in this latest Thoughtworm, Sean tells of starting (and finishing!) his first novel (the bastard). He continues to dislike Wichita Falls, and continues to seek out silver linings. Book reviews, zine reviews. There are other topics mentioned, briefly, in an essay titled "(Re)writing the past?", that really got to me. And for that reason, I don't feel comfortable discussing them here. Even though this isn't my zine. There's a reason I used the word "indescribable" above. Reviewed by Marc. [$2 / 28 pp. / digest / copied, silkscreened cover] Sean Stewart, 1703 Southwest Pkwy, Wichita Falls, TX 76302. www.thoughtworm.com

#1. This zine is the best thing I've read in months. Scanlan writes about his life and everyday observations but it's the observations he chooses to include that makes this zine so special. For instance, he writes about being able to see auras as a kid, june bugs and plants, and his aging dad forgetting his name. His drawings are pretty crude but they add so much to the comedy that you end up not caring about incorrect anatomy or perspective. Not unlike John Porcellino, Scanlan shows you things, teaches you things, and you admire him and look forward to future issues so you can get to know him better. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$3, photocopied, half-legal size, 24 pp.]
 
#2. A crapshoot. Barry Scanlan's comics reveal a penchant for absurdity, but most of his personal anecdotes are pretty dry, and man, is there some shameless filler in here. It's a nice, light mass transit read, I s'pose, and that's saying something — King Cat Comics would put me to sleep and land me way out on the west side. Reviewed by Emerson Dameron. [$3, 34 pp., half-legal]
 
#3, August 2004. Barry sent the first three issues of his comic my way for review. I read them all before forwarding numbers one and two to Kelly and Emerson, respectively. At this point, I've yet to read either of their comments, but I bet you dollars to donuts that we all three bring up John Porcellino. It's inevitable. Scanlan has been influenced greatly by the creator of King Cat; this is both positive and negative. Bad news first, just like in the work of Porcellino, I see little point in the natural portraits. Here's a leaf, here's a bird, whatever. It's pretentious. Yet that's all I have for criticism. I enjoyed the pacing of this fellow's work a lot. He has a knack for stating something in text, then repeating the same information comedically in the drawing below. The conservatively liberal politics of the author are another asset. Yes, he goes to an Earth First rally, but once there, can't help but mock the other participants' haircuts (colored drealocks, shaved heads, tattooed scalps). The price tag on the comic is a bit much, but I bet if you actually mail him three bucks, you'll get all the issues that I did. Reviewed by Marc. [$3 / half-legal / 32 pp. / printed] Barry Scanlan, 19367 120th Avenue, Milaca, MN 56353. bscanlan39@hotmail.com

#2. This exists for its mailing list. A zine by a young author, one assumes from the line: "Oh, and also thanks to the parental units for taking me to Kinko's and stuff". Instructions on dyeing your hair with Kool-aid, a rave for the new Courtney Love CD. Enjoy reading not one but two interviews with unknown musicians, conducted via e-mail. Fantastically sloppy cut n' paste layout (this is a good thing), drawings of "Furbie zombies". Ilana and Emme have made a zine that didn't interest me all that much, but hey, if you're in their peer group, check it out. Reviewed by Marc. [$2 or trade / digest / 24 pp. / copied] No address listed. turpentine@comcast.net www.angelfire.com/zine2/turpentine

Written by Jeff Kane and illustrated by Jamie Craw. I couldn't retell this story to you if I tried. I didn't understand most of it but kept reading, relying solely on understanding the gist. Murder, mystery, betrayal, corrupted youth — these are the themes therein; themes carried out by a confused turkey, a cat that wants to be Tom Ripley, and a very sad, ill-nourished boy named Paco. The drawings were amazing though I'd like to see them not shrunk down so small. Kane has written some really interesting characters and Craw brings out the darkness of the text. This comic is highly original and perhaps with a second or third reading its story could become more clear, as it stands there are too many references to people not quite famous enough to be recognized and with so many characters (all with crazy names) it's hard to keep the story and all the subplots straight. Kane and Craw make a good team and I look forward to another issue, perhaps in a larger format more complimentary to Craw's wonderfully detailed drawings. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$2.95, digest, 20 pp., copied] Jeffrey Kane, 58 Polo Road, Great Neck, NY 11023, CarilAnn2000@aol.com

I love Clotfelter's comics for their harsh reality. He's got a strong stomach for rednecks, neo-nazis, drunken bums and ditzes in crop tops. His vision of the American South might make you want to avoid going anywhere near there but you must thank him for giving you a safe peek. His drawings are really tight, super detailed and dynamic. His stories are about dashed dreams, destructive routine behaviours, and unfortunate mutants learning to live with there deformities. Are these stories of hope after all? Maybe . . . not. Reviewed by Kelly Froh. [$2, 28 pp., copied, digest size and 1/4 size mini, respectively] Max Clotfleter, 291 Redwood Dr., Marietta, GA 30064, buschcan@hotmail.com

#21. Once upon a time, there was Factsheet 5, a full-fledged magazine with international distribution to which everyone submitted their zine for review. All they gave were positive reviews, thousands of them in each installment. The F5 franchise was so well established that, when one editor gave it up, another would carry on. (In fact, the name continues to be passed along. Since the final issue appeared in the summer of 1998, no fewer than three successors have struck deals with its last real owner, R. Seth Friedman. It is currently under the control of the publishers of Alternative Press Review, who, for the past three years, have been promising a new print version will appear in the not-so-near future. Imagine Charlie Brown, Lucy, and the football.) Well, back in the mid '90s, when Factsheet 5 first announced that it would be scaling back to a semi-annual schedule, the zine community gasped. How will we get our names out there? What about all the zines that'll inevitably fall through the cracks. Luckily, a fat man in San Francisco did something about it. He created Zine World.
 
Well, now it's almost 2005, and wouldn't you know, Zine World has become the most grandiose, professionally printed review zine around. In the hands of its second editor, ZW has fallen behind schedule lately and appears just twice a year itself. Maybe that's all we need anymore. (But to be fair, one can tell that Jerianne seriously wants to get back to putting out the zine every three, four months. And with the exception of Yul Tolbert, her readership seems more accepting of her situation than everyone was toward Seth Friedman's dismissive annoucement.) Anyway, I've reviewed this title countless times before. Check out my previous updates. I feel like there's nothing more for me to add, yet I'm loath to pass my review copies on to anyone else. Suffice it to say, Zine World is a must have. I have a subscription that runs until, like, issue thirty-four. So should you — even if it takes 'em another ten years to get there. Reviewed by Marc. [$3 US, $4 Canada / 48 pp. / standard / printed, color cover] Zine World, PO Box 330156, Murfreesboro, TN 37133. www.undergroundpress.org

Marc Parker came from Oklahoma. When he isn't letting slide all kinds of typos on this site, the asthmatic go-getter enjoys riding his bike against traffic, evaluating Portland's lower-tier strip clubs, and playing David Bowie songs on an unplugged electric guitar. (Sorry, ladies, he's spoken for.) His real zine is called Lazybones. It costs a buck, to the address above. No zine trades.
 
Kelly Froh is the creator of 23 self-published zines and mini-comics including Slither, Unlucky with Pets, I've Been Forced To Get To Know You, Beating Up Little Brother, and Puke Stories. She's been frequently reviewed in Xerography Debt, Zine World, and Comixville. She's participated in many collaborations including Paper Cuts Machine, Not My Small Diary, and The White Buffalo Gazette. In 2002, she took the 24-hour comic drawing challenge for altbrand.com. She says she wouldn't do it again because she started to hallucinate (not in a good way) during the 19th hour. Kelly is currently going to art school in Vancouver, BC. She was born in Wisconsin and has lived in Madison, Milwaukee, and Seattle, WA. Kelly is obsessive about film, writing, and modern art. Her web-site is: www.221colab.org/kelly_froh/
 
Indy Ana Jones reviewed zines for The Ten Page News (and Indy Unleashed) back around the turn of the century. Indy's enormous zines index, is probably the most extensive such project available on-line as of this date. As usual, it's in need of an update. Want more? Ask Vlorbik.
 
Emerson Dameron didn't submit a bio. Typical.