April 2, 2002
Number 288 of 324
Precious Little Zines

Zoiks! That this zine takes up far more of my energy and attention than is healthy can't be denied, but at least I have a healthy capitalist attitude towards it: mass production. Sure, I don't make any money off the damn thing (more's the pity), but at least I don't futz about with various precious schemes like individually hand-drawn covers, numbered issues, or ridiculously inefficient manufacturing techniques. I am ready to admit to myself what many of my fellow zine-publishers can't: zines are entertainment, and are therefore consumed. Sure, some people might collect them, but those people are probably a little strange, just like the people who collect any regular periodical. I slap the issues together with gleeful speed and fart them out into the world without any concern for quality control or consistency, which I regard as my trademark. My trademark: no quality control or consistency. And repetition. If it's low quality and inconsistent, you're holding an Inner Swine!

So I don't know exactly what to do when I get zines which are treated like little pieces of art. The most curious thing is the hand numbered zine, "issue 34 of 344" and the like. To put it as eloquently as my huge, HAL2000-like brain can, what the fuck is up with that? You're writing quite a large check when you individually number the issues of your zine, mi amigo, and I have yet to find the numbered zine that can cash it. In my opinion, the only things that should ever be numbered are things with actual cash value, like money itself, bubba. Things I get free in the mail should not be numbered.

I could start numbering The Inner Swine I guess. Something like "Number 22 of as many as I can scam out of my employer before they go Enron and it's back to butcher paper and crayons for me". Hmmn...I like that.

ACTUAL CASH VALUE: THE INNER SWINE STORY


There have been quite a few zines in my mailbox which are actually very beautiful pieces of art, with gorgeous hand-painted covers, little pop-ups doohickies in the middle, all sorts of arty touches. Some of these, of course, did not survive the cruel, delirious handling of the outpatients who populate The United States Postal Service, unfortunately. This saddens me, because I imagine little Jimmy or Suzy Zine-maker sitting at home up until the wee hours painstakingly constructing all twelve issues of their limited-run zine titled For God's Sake Take Me Seriously or I Will Write More Poetry, then deciding to send me one of those twelve issues (number seven, let's call him Rusty), getting out their very special calligraphy pen to scratch the number onto each cover. They wait breathlessly for the torrent of twelve stunned emails to come back and affirm their genius. Meanwhile, when I get the damned thing it is damp, torn, and apparently stepped on. And possibly read by postal employees, who then took the time to scrawl editorial comments on the zine in disturbing red pen. Prying apart the glued-together pages, only a sad remnant of ole' Rusty remains. His last gasp is to bleed sad arty ink all over my hands, and in a fit of rage I burn him to ashes. You bastards in the USPS!! The day is coming when we won't take it anymore!!! The streets will run red! RUSTY WILL BE AVENGED!

Don't get me wrong, most of these precious zines are actually quite good when you get past the bullshit and read them. I just wonder about the value of the dressing. When McSweeney's does shit like that I sit around with my zine friends and laugh my ass off at Dave Eggers' incredibly shiny ego and idiotic, smug irony in place of actual talent. Doesn't Dave Eggers' smug lack of talent bother ANYONE else? Jesus, people, come on! So why should I cut a break to the more self-important buggers in zineland? All that matters to me if whether the zine has something interesting to say and plenty of it. All the dressing doesn't hurt, but it doesn't help either.

Then again, zineland is a place where people actually dislike you if you distribute too many issues, so what the fuck, do what you want, the Red Queen will be out later to play cricket.

Anyway, until next time, I remain...

Jeff