Prelude to a Lick

People seem to get the mistaken impression that I’m a mean, vicious, insensitive, stinky, anal-retentive, arrogant, pushy, miserly type of guy. 5″ 10″, SWM, enjoys cats, chicks (in that order), getting really shit-faced in public places, words that begin with the letter P, writing long and excruciatingly pointless essays, dust covers, file folders, and run-on sentences. Sorry, what was the question? Actually, I’m one of those sensitive, artistic types (see illustration), I’m just not usually drawn that way.

Welcome to the first quarterly issue of Lollipop. Anyone who says size doesn’t matter is full of shit. Size is relative. What seems a huge leap at the time, a massive step forward in the evolution of a person, a magazine, or “other” (I know of little else, having just come off a few weeks of 15-hour days pulling this issue together), can later be seen as a logical move that, while important, is merely part of the whole growing process. Like a break-up or getting your ass fired, it sucks while in the midst of it, but often it’s for the best in the long run. Try telling that to someone who just got dumped or fired and see how broad-thinking they are. But once the tears on the pillow have dried and one’s identity is somewhat re-established as a being worthy of existence (or at least on the long road to recovery), it’s much easier to step back and realize the change, however painful at first, has brought about many previously-unexplored possibilities.

To swerve from the safe ambiguity of metaphor, I’d like to say I’m very pleased with the “new”Lollipop. I actually feel better about it than I have in a long time. It’s far too easy, especially when you’re as obsessively focused as I am, to lose “the big picture” amidst all the details. All the flashing lights. All the perks and all the pressures. To do something (anything really, I’m simply operating within the context of I-make-a-magazine) out of mere habit is to forget why you began doing it in the first place. And that’s what I’ve regained. I like doing this. And I’m going to keep doing it, dammit, ’cause it sure as shit is more attractive than the alternative.

On a quick personal note (to those who care, and perhaps those who don’t can generalize and take this into their lives), I played the “I’m going to get a real job game.” All that résumé-writing, cover letter-writing, faxing, mailing, interviewing, dressing-sharply, nodding intelligently upon cue, firm-handshake-and-a-smile horseshit – that and all the degradation, Help Wanted ink on my fingers, identity-crushing hoop-jumping necessary to get a job. If you’ve ever done it, you know the horrors to which I allude. And if you’re at all like me, with each abbreviated blurb in the paper, with every interview you go on, you project yourself into another world. While walking, riding the train, or waiting in yet another semi-comfortable lobby/waiting area (which always remind me of the dentist’s/doctor’s office with the dread gnawing away at you as unbelievably tepid muzak tries to soothe you), your mind wanders. You imagine what it’d be like to work in this place. Every day. Eight or more hours a day. With these people. With that commute. Dressed like this. Acting like this. And doing what, exactly? And then the interview’s over, and you back-track or move onto the next scheduled interview. Repeat procedure. It’s enough to make you lose whatever shred of dignity you have left. Admitting you’re unemployed is the same self-actualizing crap as admitting you’re an alcoholic. Hi, my name is mud, and I’m unemployed. The support group nods sympathetically and awaits their “individual” turn to partake in the ritual. You are no longer a human with skill sets and ambitions, that comes later. First, one must be beaten to a pulp, an identity-less form into which the necessary training will be granted if and when the time comes. I could go on (and on and on), but I believe I’ve made my point. The first thing you lose is who you are. Identity is a luxury unaffordable to the unemployed. You will be reconditioned to suit the needs of your employer. And that’s that. And, to be honest with you, I couldn’t take it. (Some might not get into all this, they simply know getting a job sucks and is a full-time job in itself, and perhaps that’s a much healthier way to go through life. I, on the other hand, project my self [two words intentionally] onto my environment as a fully-acknowledged delusional egoist is wont to do. Long walks with nothing but time to question the validity of the retraining process, the functionality of the workplace, the fact that Christianity has liberated snippets of other religions for centuries then discredited them, being part of the war-based, yet currently war-less species, and more I-have-too-much-time-on-my-hands thoughts than I’d care to share.)

So I devised a plan. Aside from running the now-quarterly Lollipop (from my house, just like the old daze, but with better equipment), I’m representing a handful of the best independent magazines I’ve come across over the years. That’s a fancy way of saying I’m selling their ads. But to know what your calling is (even though some might prefer wading through raw sewage mending leaky pipes), is an invaluable piece of knowledge. It may not be what you enjoy the most, but perhaps it’s what you’re best at. No one ever said you had to like your job, they simply ask that you to do it if you want the paycheck. Or get the fuck out. And, to be honest, I genuinely like many of the people I solicit ads from. “In this racket,” there are fewer games, less under-handed politicking than in many jobs, and despite the fact that it involves money, not to mention a certain amount of hoop-jumping, it’s really not all that bad. (I keep telling myself that, my motivational mantra.) And so, as Lollipop expands to, what to my eyes is its more natural proportions – both in page-count and ever-varied coverage, I’d like to mention a few magazines whose Editors and/or Publishers I’ve become close friends with over the years. Friends who understood when no one else could, and to top it off, are some really sharp, forward-thinking, honest-to-goodness good fuckin’ people (didn’t think there were any left in the magazine biz, did ya?).

If you are not already an avid reader of Paramour, Implosion, Bloodsongs, and the new Juggernaut, please check them out. Not only are they some of the highest caliber independent magazines I’m aware of (in all regards – writing quality, imagery, arty yet legible layout, topical coverage within the field), but they’re also run by some damn good people.

Lollipop began as an interesting idea, something to keep me occupied and surround me with creative people, and that it’s done. I’m not about to give that up any time soon. Lollipop will continue to grow (hopefully not too much bigger ’cause, to be honest, this sucker was a bitch to finish) and I hope you enjoy it.