Editrix Abby  

Not like it's necessary to point this out, but people who publish fanzines do so because they have a need to publish, to get their word out. The zine industry rose out of that need: topics were covered, word was disseminated and voices were heard through the underground that wouldn't have been expressed any other way. But after years of zines being recognized—and co-opted—by the mainstream, the line between magazine and fanzine has blurred. Now a fanzine seems to be anything not published by Condé Nast or Time Inc. Every once in a while, though, I'm reminded of what fanzines are truly about. I found a small reminder in my mailbox just the other day.

One of the many books about fanzines that assisted with their emergence into the mainstream was a riot grrrl zine guide written by Tristan Taormino, and her factchecking left a bit to be desired. I was listed in the book, along with my old zine Porn Free, as Abby Hoffman, rather than Ehmann. Now when I receive something addressed to the dead rabble rouser instead of the very much alive pornographer, it's a tip-off that the zinester responsible used Taormino's book as a reference. And usually, they're earnest college girls, of questionable (or should I say questioning) sexuality, just finding their way in the world.

Meeting the Shadow

Such is the case with Lisa Harmon's Meeting the Shadow, an eight-page, 4"x5" little gem that is the embodiment of "the need to publish" mantra. Her return address is also very telling: ahh, a Columbia University student, no doubt in pursuit of her liberal arts degree. The immediacy of the product was exciting to me. The zine is dated January 3, 1999, and it was in my mailbox less than a week later. Not much of a lead time, eh? That kind of turnaround is easy when the publishing process is between you and your typing paper, which is the case here. This is definitely a cut-and-paste project, with clever comics, rudimentary illustrations and hand written stuff slapped right beside typed pieces. Lisa gives us mostly poetry and self-actualization exercises, which results in an almost embarrassingly personal, dear diary sort of divulgence. She shares a secret of early lust with a cousin and a crush on a native New Yorker co-ed whose cool she admires. You can practically smell the cigarette smoke mingling with the Bubble Yum. Anyway, budding zinesters such as Harmon, with their desperate need to publish, deserve your support. Especially in the face of Condé Nast!

The Fogelnest Files

In a similar vein, but with a vastly different method of execution, are The Fogelnest Files, published by a Manhattan attorney who I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting last year at a social gathering. Mr. Fogelnest has plenty to say, but he says it all with kookie press clips, alarming statistics and print advertisements, peppered by a few of his hysterical "business letters," written under a pseudonym, to people such as Bob Barker, Henry Kissinger and the president of Junior Achievement. Fogelnest's opinions on the world around him are immediately evident by what he includes here and the topics he chooses to skewer, which consists mostly of, well, general human stupidity. There's an emphasis on the ridiculousness of drug laws (actually, most laws), the folly of Viagra, Jerry Springer and toilet humor. Surprisingly, Fogelnest resists the temptation to editorialize. The only "pieces" that weren't previously published elsewhere are the aforementioned pseudonymous letters and a satirical take on Christmas newsletters that serves as an editor's note. This guy has combed through newspapers the world over to bring you a hearty chuckle at man's expense. He may be the only lawyer worthy of
living!

Thyrezine

And lastly, I present another painfully personal zine based almost exclusively on the tribulations and antics of one dysfunctional family, Thyrezine. Imagine four sisters and a brother growing up in the midwest and Louisiana with parents straight out of Deliverance and a skewed, sick sense of humor. The subtitle sort of sums it all up: The Annals of Paranoid Grotesquery. It's no surprise that two of the children grew up to be comic actors. It sounds like the only way they could cope was either comedy or insanity. It's a good thing for all concerned that they stumbled upon comedy, because I doubt they let you publish fanzines in the nuthouse. In Thyrezine, you are treated to childhood reminiscences, scribed by assorted family members, and augmented by similar adolescent stories by their equally screwed up friends and acquaintances, all to very disturbing and hilarious effect.

Dogs in training pants, a chipped tooth and a pilgrimage to Lourdes all add up to jarring, life-changing, forehead-slapping trauma. Even a ride on a Greyhound bus becomes a journey to the bowels of hell. And in keeping with the best personal fanzine tradition, each entry leaves you feeling as if you know the writer perhaps a little too well. Screw illustrator Tony Millionaire is a Thyrezine contributor, along with Michael Kupperman and Mark O'Donnell. The writing is mostly excellent, and since the woman responsible for this therapy-in-print is so highly placed, you may recognize the names of contributors scrolling by in sitcom credits. Yes, Sarah Thyre has some friends in very high places, most notably her husband, Andy Richter, who's got an office on a pretty high floor in Rockefeller Center. But this ain't no big budget, Quark-a-riffic print job, as you might expect. It's just a select slice of Sarah's insanity presented in a legible, low-tech package. Share it with your brothers and sisters.