If you haven't already, you should grab a copy of the new Pink Mince #8. And it's not just me who thinks so:
"totally fantastic, one of the best yet. Will have to book a ticket to NY!"
"Best issue yet."
"Don't you just LOVE when a new Pink Mince arrives ...? Spesh when you're in it! Beautiful work once again"
"Loving the new issue....entertaining and informative. What more could a man want?"
"Pink Mince. What can I say. I love it!"
"Page 16, with a beard, sitting against a tree. Are you fricking kidding me ...? Where the hell was I in 1976 ...?"
Sure, I'm scheduled to give a talk, too, but I'm a little more tickled about this set of Monotype banners I got away with designing:
That last one, of course, is also one of my tattoos. Because I REALLY love Cooper Black Italic.
Even before I realised he or I was gay, John Waters was a massive, massive influence on my overall queerish sensibilities.
See that? That's what the world's worst printer thinks is acceptable quality for plain black type and a solid black bar — not a scan, not an image, nothing fancy. Plain black text set with real fonts, printed on normal paper with a laser printer. Are you thinking a $50 inkjet printer would do better? Are you thinking potato stamps would do better? So am I. And this latest disaster is the last straw.
I'm going to name and shame here. Fallen Angel Media in Bristol target their services toward independent comics and zine publishers, an idea I fully support, obviously, and one which kept me with them through mistake after mistake that has dogged Pink Mince since the first issue. For a long time, they were able to keep their prices low enough that I felt like I had no choice but to put up with the problems, but the prices have been creeping up, the service has been getting slower and slower, and their attention to quality — at least for me, or at least for the kind of straightforward mix of text and images that Pink Mince requires — has failed to improve.
I'm no stranger to print production. I've been at this for over 20 years, and I find it difficult to accept that it's so utterly impossible to print words and images together that both have to suffer over and over again. So screw it. I'm done paying to wait a month to see if a lovingly assembled issue will look like shit or not. I'm done hoping they don't object to the content. If I must, I'd rather pay a little more to do justice to the superb work that people are kind enough to contribute, not to mention that work I put in, too.
So I'm sorry to everyone who has already ordered copies of Pink Mince #8, and to the subscribers, and to the contributors. It's going to be about another week until I see if the kind printer nearby — who is equally baffled by Fallen Angel's problems — can rescue this issue. Please be patient while I try to get the best result possible out to all of you.
...and I miss her. Jerri Blank, we salute you!
One of the features I'm most excited about in the upcoming New York-themed issue of Pink Mince (order your copy now!) is a selection of photos of men in the West Village in the late 70s by Leonard Fink, whose work is archived at the LGBT Community Center on West 13th Street. I chose a mix of images that felt like they really captured some magical moments of a lost time in the neighborhood, but I may have curated the selection even better than I realized.
I was showing my friend Sina a preview of the issue, and he immediately caught something in an image from 1978 that I missed. Look at this detail:
That's Robert Mapplethorpe, isn't it? Suddenly, my photo feature of a lost New York seems that much more poignant.