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On the surface, my life seems just like anyone else’s. These are the things I do: I eat, drink, sleep, listen to music, watch movies, and read books. I work at a local record store, I do research at the university, and I attend class. I eat cold pizza for breakfast. I drink warm beer if someone forgot to put more in the fridge. I grimace at the pile of dishes in the sink, then walk away without washing any. I spend more money than I should. I wear the same pair of jeans for eight days straight. I have two drawers full of socks because I hate doing laundry. I am stuck in two worlds: a part of the counter-culture epitomized by punk rock and artsy aesthetics, and the need to be a productive member of our general society that promotes conformity on a massive scale. I take showers in the morning, not at night. I sleep with three fans blowing over me, yet wake up with sweat running down the back of my neck. On some mornings I forget to set the alarm, but my body wakes itself up at the proper time anyway. (This proved to be immensely useful when traveling in Europe without an alarm clock.) I hate Mondays. I love Fridays. I drive too fast, drink too much, and have a mouth that seems to run on its own at times. I’m invincible, I’m going to live forever. I am just like you. These are the things I remember: some days, I hear the song of an ice cream truck and am magically transported back to age eight, begging my mom for a dollar so I can buy a Bomb Pop. On other days, I hear a Smashing Pumpkins song and am magically transported back to age sixteen, full of angst and promise and dreams. And on still other days (and these ones are the rarest), I hear swing in full-on 78 RPM AM crackle and am magically transported to age seventy-three, looking back at my youth and wondering why I took everything so seriously, why I thought it all meant so much in the end. These are the things I desire: I want to travel again. I want to put it all away and leave, head to far off places where I am known by no one. I want to roam the art galleries around the world before heading to the old part of town and downing a few pints with the locals, laughing at tourists buying over-priced souvenirs. I want to be in a position where I feel an overwhelming urge to search for an unknowable answer to an unspoken question. I want to be in a position where I feel an overwhelming urge to impress someone, to prove myself to a stranger. I want to be in a position where I feel an overwhelming urge to do an unexpected favor for an unexpected friend—fuck you, Oprah, for making kindness trendy—to simply be nice for no reason, to be a buddy. More than anything, I just want to feel an overwhelming urge. I want you to be just like me. This whole piece, plus many more, available only in livingproof #4. 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.