Andy’s zine is a true work of Canadiana. It takes us from a dour gray hospital in Hamilton, ON to the lonely stretch of road between Sault St. Marie and Thunder Bay to the seedy gangster restaurant on Broadway in Vancouver where our man orders an omelette after finding a wallet full of cash on the seat next to him (he’d just spent his last two dollars on a shit movie). What are the chances? Andy’s life seems full of coincidence and contradiction. After a bad accident, he announces that’s he rediscovered the value of life, then starts drinking again. Anyway, that’s really an aside, since I’m not about to tell Andy how he should or shouldn’t live his life. Provided I take everything in this diaristic personal rambling zine as truth. But even if I don’t, this is one of the great Canadian zines of all time. Andy’s a clear, concise and loveable narrator despite his drinking binges and tendency to acquire unexplained injuries. He can’t stay in one place, and he has nowhere to go. He loves life and can’t wait to die. Things “suck shit” but out of the most despondent Niagara Falls winter comes an old friend named Greta. A couple of hours of conversation and she heads back to the New York side. “After,” Andy writes, “I continued my long standing tradition of not staying in contact with those who I truly enjoy the company of, and I would never see nor hear from Greta again.” Like old friends who can’t get along and can’t forget each other, I’m thinking of Andy on this snowy winter night. He might be the guy standing under the awning of the KFC watching the flakes twirl. He might be dead in the morning, or he might be pounding on the beer store door. Whatever happens, I won’t forget about him. Though he doesn’t give a fuck about me. (HN)
zine, #3, 105 pgs, Andy, $3, PO Box 21533-1850 Commercial Dr., Vancouver, BC, V5N 4A0