Always wallowing in fictional fantasies? Try out some hardcore reality. Click over to Jay’s place for a short illustrated story of relatable whimsey and regret. Jay opens with:
When I was a sophomore in college, I got it into my head to do a fanzine. Fueled by a steady diet of pizza and ginger-ale from Captain Nemo’s Pizza in Boston’s Kenmore Square, I became giddy with thoughts of the acclaim and accolades my zine-to-be would garner. It would be like the Paris Review of hardcore zines, erudite, knowing, and fun, reflecting my teenaged years as a straight-edge posi kid but with a burgeoning art-rock maturity that I believed my soon-to-be twenty-year old self possessed in spades.
I scoured Lungfish lyrics to find a suitably cryptic name for my zine. Would it be Plague of Particles or Invisible Regime? Either way, it would kick Suburban Voice and Flipside’s respective asses to the curb. It would be the kind of zine that would get you laid.