Beaut Commute

Zines

 

Before we go any further there's something you should know. I am not cool. I love The Bill and the ABC and can't use predictive text.

So, I was a fish out of water when I stumbled into a zine scene recently. In fact I was a fish on a bicycle who found themselves on 'So you think you can dance'. However, the beauty of being over thirty is being able to fiercely muster up confidence and remind yourself you really, genuinely, honestly don't care what a twenty year old in a neon hoodie thinks of you. At least not much.

Soon enough I lost my angst and instead lost myself in these remarkable little things.

I don't say 'little' patronisingly… maybe I do. I mean little in the sense of being cute. I like miniature things. I likeSlinkachu and Gulliver's travels. And zines are like the cute nerdy baby of magazine that mated with a graphic novel. 

They are perfect fodder for commuters because they are little, cheap (prices range from .50c to $7) and once you are done you can leave them on the train for someone else to enjoy.

You gotta pick the zines that suit you. They are often used to push political agendas which may or may not interest you. For me, I went for the more humorous and whimsical.

Here are a couple of the little literary morsels I picked up:

 

Epitaph for my heart. Sweet musings and instructions for those who struggle socially. From someone who knows. 

 

 Dealing with post human abilities: a brilliant satire on DHS pamphlets for people who 'suffer from conditions such as self propelled flight.

Melburnians can pick up enough zines to sate them from Sticky.

The Wellington Public Library has a collection of 600 zines.

More on Sydney zines here. 

And there's a great NZ blog on Zines.

Auckland based Cherry Bomb comics.

  

The New Yorker

 
 

A recent doco on the ABC focussing on ten years after the Berlin Wall came down, featured a woman who married the wall. Apparently she's also married to the Eiffel Tower. Bigamist.

If I were to marry something that wasn’t human, I would marry The New Yorker magazine. I have been an avid reader since I was 21 and despite never having been to New York, feel I know it intimately. Like a Second Life romance I guess.

I mean marry the magazine, not the people who work there. I've worked for mags before and I know that despite sounding erudite and cool on the page, the people behind the keyboards are more than likely bug-eyed and twitchy.

But still now, many years later, I get butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms when that magnificent organ lands with a whish on my doorstep.

Over the years it has wooed me with stories of horse trainers naming their steeds in tongue twisters to challenge a beloved racing commentators, how elevators work and what makes Sarah Palin tick. It has helped me understand some of the complexities of how and why the GFC happened and introduced me to brilliant websites such as The Note and Postcards from Yo Momma.


I recommend it for PT commuters it comes weekly, is easy to carry (it folds in half lengthwise which is handy) and it makes you read about things that you otherwise might not come across. In an era of specialist publications and the ability to select media that only covers the topics we are interested in, the writing in The New Yorker is so good, and the stories so interesting you find yourself reading about well….horse trainers for instance.

Get a subscription now while the Aussie dollar is still strong against the US.