22 pages, 11" x 8.5", $2.00/Trade/Stamps/Letter >>> Doug Harrison, PO Box 5291, Richmond VA 23220, USA
"Letters, reviews, editorials, real mailing addresses, typographical refinements, art & illustrations, esoteric notions" it says in a box next to the title on the cover. We're in the Zine Zone of No Computers here - a world also populated by Fred Woodworth's
The Match!; Anthony Walent's
Communicating Vessels; and Jason Rodgers's
Media Junky. The format, size, and level of 'slickness' of these zines may differ, but one thing they all share is a passionate opposition to modern technology, especially the internet. These guys may actually even use the internet sometimes, but it sure doesn't take centre stage in their life. To put it another way, don't hold your breath for them to switch to a blog format; or a downloadable PDF.
The Zine Explorer's Notebook has come a long way since I last reviewed it [
tZEN #3] - doubling in size, for one thing. The letter column is also a treat, and one letter in here especially - the one from a prisoner who admits to beating an 'alleged' pedophile and leaving him for dead, and being proud of it. In his response, Doug objects to this guy's self-righteous braggadocio.
Another fascinating letter is from Al Fry, who seems to be some kind of militant gardener, with his vigorous writings on weeds, Monsanto, and fluoridated water [
"rat poison"].
I really appreciated the zine reviews too. Every zine really should contain reviews of other zines. You've probably heard that before, but for those who make a zine and don't include zine reviews in their zine, they need to hear it a few more times, at least until they wake the fuck up and start putting zine reviews in their own zine. Wake up!
Grab a brush and put on a little make-up!
21 comments:
I wipe my ass with the Zine Explorer's Notebook.
Sid: I printed your last letter. You said, "Please do not send me any more copies of your sanctimonious zine". I didn't. I sent you a letter, but it was returned. You closed your P.O. Box. My issues with your dirty diaper? Write me. Doug Harrison, P.O. Box 5291,Richmond,VA 23220. Attn: Mr. Whipple
P.S. "Come to grips" with your pamphlet? OK, Mao-Tse Tung. I got something you can grip right here, your majesty.
I have a special place in my heart for you, Sid.
Who was the author who removed their own comment at the beginning, I wonder. Sid, I went over to your ACD blog but couldn't find any comments at all. It would have been instructive to be able to read them, and get a statement from Doug either admitting or denying authorship. But another thing, Sid you attacked three times, but when Doug arrived to defend himself/attack you in return, you seemed to lose your fire, and took your ball and went home.
Well, at least it has been the most action-packed comment thread on my Atomiser blog ever, I think. Lol.
Why did Sidworst even comment here in the first place?
Anyway, Sid commented here first about the Zine Explorer's Notebook. Yes, I flame-farted anonymously on his blog. He responded by deleting me. How tolerant.
As far as his offending comment in his own circulation-20 fartlet titled "Here Have A Turd": Did he make that comment up himself? Will he step up and admit to it like I've admitted to my own anonymous nasty comments?
If somebody handed me a turd, yeah, I'd want a whole case of Charmin.
Intolerance: Sid, ever try handing your turds out on a street corner? I never have done so, but then again I don't claim victimhood. I use my typewriters and printing presses--my "dead things"--to connect with live human beings. Gearhead and proud. Shout-out to coders, too.
For all interested: Check out the Zine Explorer's Notebook, P.O. Box 5291, Richmond, VA 23220 USA. (More on this thread in issue 7.) (Sid gets a free copy if he asks for it.)
P.S. I'm not Frank Booth. I'm Raymond. I only pour the beer for Frank. He himself drinks it.
Stu: Thanks for the diary comix. Loved 'em. Send more if you can. Postage is hell these days, I know.
As for Sid: He sent me his zine unsolicited. I ignored it. I myself didn't even find it worthy of wiping my as with. But I can't speak for anyone other than me. You?
Doug Harrison, Zine Explorer's Notebook, P.O. Box 5291, Richmond, VA 23220 USA.
(You and Sid should compare IP addresses for me. I step up right now and admit to who I am.)
Mountains are indeed beautiful.Truly fucking awesome, in fact. I'm a few counties down the Ohio from Sid himself. Scioto, to be exact.
This whole thing is a mountain of turds. Who really cares about us divided and conquered douchebags anyway? -Mr. Massengill (a.k.a., the Incredible Mystery Hole)
Much love for Sid, in my way. He's the Frankie Teardrop of West Virginia
(Old Ohio joke: Three guys walking down the street. One's from Ohio, one's from Kentucky, one's from West Virginia...)
By the way, to be sincere: Sid Clark gets big credit with me just for being from West Virginia. He comes across ugly but he comes from a beautiful place. Jesus, I think he's even more hypersensitive than I am.
I just wish he would fess up to fabricating comments... If he did, that's okay. Everybody's a fuck-up at some time. Anybody ever look ME up on the internet? I'm afraid to myself, personally. But you webfreaks should have at it.
Also:Cryptic comment here: Does Sid know anything about a 1980s rock band from WVA called Oracle? Does he know the rock? Does he know the role he's supposed to play?
Sid claims zero-response to his mailing? Yeah, welcome back to the club, Kotter. Jeez, man. Getting your written ideas through to people is like hanging out with Mr. Cartooner, ain't it? It's like a gold-plated invitation to the big time.
Man up, old-timer. I'm 43. Rejection is like snow, man. You plow fucking through it. Not to get under your sensitive skin, Mr. Oil of Olay, but this is the harsh reality. Put on your special sunglasses and plow through it, Rowdy Roddy.
P.S. Yeah I'm the Dick Cheney who conspiracized the entire universe into ignoring zinesters like Sid. Please, Sid, have a laugh on me, man. It's fucking free. In fact, I'm paying for it, Mountain Mama.
Can't find an anonymous trail now, so:
The fuck are your fucking around with the written word for anyway, Bub Guccione? Thought you were into primal grunts? But I guess you know the rock. And the role you're supposed to play. -narata
The day I give up ink on paper is the day Mark Zuckerborg owns my soul.
Doug Harrison, P.O. Box 5291, Richmond, VA 23220 USA
Still here crankin' 'em out on my dead thing.
Some give up way too easy.
-turdacious
He says he owes me nothing. Hell, I never ASKED him for nothing. He started up with me, sending me one of his 20, then trashing me here. I could care less about retarded self-called rednecks who eschew civilization, yet who still use the written word and, for all its gearhead tech know-how, the internet. Talk to me all you want. I'm entertained by it. But if you don't like civilization, you're free to park your van down by the river and pretend like you're living in the stone age.
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