A covert antenatal class diary. Covert as in, the other expectant parents thought I was some very attentive note taker, a swotty student of parenting, when really I was writing about them, heh heh...

Looks at my own male pattern baldness and that of others... and thus began the combover experiment.

Playing with the beast that is inde music PR sees me interview myself and give an old skool account of how to promote your band.

Possibly got a bit too comfortable with the idea of writing inane stream-of-consciousness with this one... yeah... dunno...

I decided to write about DJing by becoming a DJ. Read about the misadventures of my alter-egos: DJ Good Music and DJ $1 Record.

Having noticed the proliferation of lifestyle magazines about I had a go at my own with the requisite picture of a steaming hot babe on the front. A bit of fashion, a bit of food, a bit of music, a bit of film, a bit international, a lot insipid. A noice pisstake of the genre (or lack of genre).

By this stage my zine was well into its life as a Masters of Fine Arts project. Then, during critique, a lecturer asked, "Where's the art?" and I lost it. Where's the art does not mean, "This isn't art!" apparently, but I did not know that. So this issue became an ego-limping survey of a bunch of crap ideas. I lost my zine mojo, and wrote about it.