Zines and the Beauty of Isolation.

Well, apparently all of you were just reading this in hopes of a shout-out. Since last night when I jokingly mentioned that I wouldn't plug your blogs, I've gotten no comments.
Fickle bitches, the lot of ya'.

Oh well, let me type away in obscurity then.
Which reminds me of a topic I've been visiting in my mind over and over again for the past few years.
Does anyone out there remember zines? If you aren't exactly sure what a zine is click here.
Zines were like the precursor of blogs, in that anyone with an idea or a burning passion to express themselves could reach others with the same likes or interests. There were zines about bands, movies, religion, music, clothes, sex, politics, gardening, conspiracy theories-you name it.
Sure, some zines were amazingly crappy.
But the amount of effort it took to make a zine is pretty incredible. On the technical side, you had to draw/steal artwork, write, cut, paste, lay out the zine, proof everything, go to Kinkos and make photocopies, make sure the copies were good, collate, fold, staple and then go to the Post Office and mail out any copies people want. And on top of that you have to make sure your zine was actually worth reading.
But what they all had in common was the personal touch.
Nothing could compare to sending 2 bucks and a stamp to some kid in Iowa, and getting a little photocopied magazine, the text agonizingly handwritten, in which he espouses his love for The Ramones, lambasted the jocks at his high school, and pours out some really crappy poetry about the unbearable pain of love.
Sure, zines were often amazingly crappy, but if someone took the time and effort to publish a zine it was truly a labor of love-the number of hours and the monetary cost of producing a zine were staggering. And, quite often, there was little or no response despite all your hard work. You would send zines to anyone and everyone you liked and looked up to out there in the big, dark world beyond your bedroom and you might get a response 1 time out of 20.
But, oh man, that one postcard from the lead singer of your favorite band made it all worth it. Someone you admired actually liked your stuff so much they took the time to mail a response to you-little talentless, teen aged, lonely, insignificant you.
And there, in your sweaty little hand, was proof that you were not alone in the wasteland after all.

Perhaps the Internet is the same to kids nowadays-a way to link up with other like minded people and create a social group. Perhaps I'm just an cranky, washed up old Luddite bitching about how much better it was "back in the day".
But I don't think so. The fact that it was such a hard struggle just to get those few letters and postcards made it somehow, I don't know, a little more rare and therefore a little more special.

Would I go back to the old way? No, probably not-like parachute pants and Van-Halen albums, making zines is a thing that served me well, but whose time has past.

But I still have that postcard.
From time to time I re-read it and remember how important it was for someone to let me know that I was not alone.