Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Chelsea

While doing some reorganization in our house, we discovered an ancient relic: the last surviving copy of my zine, Chelsea.

Chelsea only had two issues, and shockingly, didn't do that bad. I had a paid advertiser in the second one. If you don't know what a Chelsea is, it is a haircut, for punk girls, where you shave most of your head except the side burns and bangs. At one point in my life I had one. At one point in my life I considered myself "punk rock." At one point in my life I was too cool for everything. At one point in my life, I was a total D-bag, as evidenced by this photo taken during the short-lived Chelsea days, a photo taken on a camera with actual film inside.

Now, even though the "design" is atrocious, (I did it all in Microsoft Works)and the content is highly pretentious, the writing isn't completely vomitous. So for your enjoyment, a rare excerpt from the Punk Zine: Chelsea.

Stalks Aren't Just for Celery Anymore
(This title makes me want to go back in time and kick my own ass)

Starting a band can be a fun, but a punk needs to be aware of the risks of hitting punk stardom before he makes the commitment. Yes, it sounds appealing to all of us to have enough money to buy the expensive cigarettes rather than the GPC's, and to be able to buy a new pair of combat boots rather than used, and to perhaps upscale the Vespa into an actual car, but just be reminded there are risks. There can be nasty falls from the stage, putting an eye out with a drum stick and the ever inevitable STALKER.

Some of you guys out there, probably at this point, may think it sounds cool to have fifteen year old girls following you around creating avid sexual fantasies about you, but think again. Picture this. You awaken in your room, stretch your arms and arise from the dirty mattress on your floor. Since you have no clock in your room, you go over to the window to see if it is morning or night, and as you peer outside, you are met with a pair of lonely puppy eyes. The same eyes that watched you pass out in your bed the night before, hoping that your torn shirt would slide over a mere inch as you slept so that one pierced nipple may be exposed. She constantly pops up at every turn, and after a while, you begin to go mad.

Believe me, she has a file on you that contains all of your secret details from birth, and she has visions of capturing you and keeping you in an oversized bell jar in her garage. This is not fun. "It's cool at first," says Mike from the Dietrichs, "'cause you're all 'Ha ha, I have a stalker. I'm rad.' But no. It gets scary when she finds your house and shows up at your work and other creepy things like that."

If you do find yourself in this situation, as Mike has, here are some tips for ridding yourself of your newfound parasite.

1. Try to dump her off on one of the other band members. Tell her that "Jimmy" saw her at one of the shows and thought she was the cutest thing. Stalkers are only in love with the "idea" of you, so one band member is as good as the next.

2. If you have a girlfriend, let the girlfriend rid you of the stalker. And if you don't, have a female friend pretend to be your girlfriend and tell the stalker off. If you tell the stalker off yourself, she is likely to become violent. Let your girlfriend deal with it.

3. Things not to do are tell you are gay or try the acting like a total jerk to make her hate you. If you boys have not figured it out yet, these things merely attract women more.

Having a band can be fun and profitable, but having a stalker is not. Use these tips to remove her or think of your own. Or you could always use the stalker to wait on you hand and foot. Just remember, with fame comes stalkers.

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