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I am a college graduate. I am a college graduate who studied music theory and have an entire college degree in music theory, which prepares me for absolutely zero fields of work out there in the real world. The problem with my college experience is that I slept through a lot of it. I slept through a lot of it because of the snooze button. Those snooze button things are addictive, actually, and I don’t even have an addictive personality--well, not exactly, I have more of an obsessive personality, which is like an entire addiction within a much shorter time span--but when that alarm thing is buzzing right next to your head, and you know that a little twitch of your arm will turn it off for nine more minutes, well, what else do you expect to happen? Two summers during this college experience that I slept through, my alarm would go off at approximately six in the morning (okay, exactly six in the morning, because you can’t really tell your alarm clock to go off at approximately six in the morning, can you?). It would go off at six in the morning because I needed to get my designated shower time and get dressed and eat breakfast and fix my lunch and still be out of the house by seven or so to get to work on time. I wasn’t big into the whole snooze situation during those summers; even on weekends I’d try to sleep in but my door would swing open and the dog would run in and jump and slobber all over me and my girlfriend (well, now she’s an ex-girlfriend, so I guess in this narrative I should call her my then-girlfriend, although that does sound kind of awkward, but it certainly is more descriptively exact--exactly descriptive?--let’s just say that it is unambiguous), my then-girlfriend would sit at the foot of my bed and laugh while I tried to defend myself from the dog who was slobbering all over me. Wait--maybe I should back up a little. Those two summers were the ones following my sophomore and junior years of college, when I lived with my then-girlfriend and her family. The summer after my freshman year of college I lived alone in an apartment on the top floor of a funeral home where I lost my virginity to the first girl I ever loved. We had been together since high school, and were one of the few couples who had managed to stay together during college, despite a failure rate that would make high school guidance counselors blush. This whole piece, plus many more, available only in livingproof #1. Order now.
Issues: #1: Crisis. [samples] #2: Rebound. [samples] #3: Genesis. [samples] #4: Rehearsal. [samples] #5: Rapprochement. [samples] Available for $3 each. Ordering info. Sanitary and Ship is free.	Reader, I think I might owe you an apology. You probably picked up this zine thinking it was going to be another installment of the Livingproof perzine, a series engages in the dissecting of failures in romance and the place of underground music in such a narrative. This zine doesn’t exactly follow that format. Indeed, upon first read, you may feel like I hoodwinked you into reading a paean to my favorite band, whom you likely don’t care about and may be disinclined entirely to check out after finishing the last page and closing this zine (or throwing it down in disgust partway through).... Read more.
Email list: Join the livingproof_announce email list. Enter your email address in the box below. Email:	It wasn’t hard to find a place to stay when I first moved to Chicago: my freshman year roommate Brad had an extra bedroom in his Lincoln Park apartment because his roommate had abandoned him for the summer. I could only afford to pay half of my share, but that was better than Brad paying for the whole thing himself. We shook hands and I moved in two days later. I spent that first Chicago summer exploring the city, both formally—I had a job canvassing pedestrians around the city for Greenpeace—and informally, as I learned my way around the CTA, started meeting people, and hung out at bars and rock clubs... Read more.
Semi-Related Links: Fall of Autumn Punk Planet Sanitary and Ship Splendid WLUW Zine World	Sometimes, when the end comes, it’s right on time. But very rarely do things end when it feels right. Too often the end is a surprise, it catches you off guard, and you’re left in the dust struggling to make sense in your grief. Not as often, but just as difficult, is the end that drags on, milking your patience and sympathy until you’re actually happy the end has come when it finally does arrive. It’s a relief, in those cases... Read more.