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It was the summer of 1998. I had just finished my freshman year at the University. In the meantime, my family had moved eight hundred and two point eight miles away, from Rockaway, New Jersey to Gurnee, Illinois. I grew up in Rockaway, working at the mall, attending high school, playing in a band, going to punk shows, having friends, and having a girlfriend. I was not about to leave a place I knew I was comfortable with for a place where I knew no one, where I needed a map to find my own house. I didn’t want to be in a position where the only place I felt comfortable was with my family, especially after the feeling of liberation that generally accompanies one’s first year of college. A co-worker of my then-girlfriend was attending the Joe Kubert School of Illustration in Dover, and had a lease on an apartment that lasted through the entire summer. It was a three-person apartment, but no one else was subletting, so I was paying one-third for the entire thing. It was nice, with air conditioning, kitchen, laundry, all bills included, and close to my friends and my summer jobs. I was turning twenty that summer, and I was starting to feel like an adult. It was nice to have a place of my own. The only catch was that it was on the top floor of a funeral home. That didn’t really freak me out, it’s not like I was constantly surrounded by death and grief at all—I think they only had two or three funerals over the course of the entire summer, which explains why they rented out part of the building—but my girlfriend was upset when I showed her the casket room. I had a party one night and a number of people slept over, and in the morning they were all parked in by funeral-goers. But besides those little incidents, it was a blast being on my own. In addition to my full-time job, I also worked evenings at the local Blockbuster. We could take home movies for free, and could usually get the new releases before they were officially out. I started teaching myself how to cook in the tiny kitchen with the slanted roof. And my girlfriend and I finally had some privacy. This whole piece, plus many more, available only in livingproof #2. 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.