A Note From the Head Bitch

Why is this issue so God-awful late?

Sometimes, I think that I'm becoming too happy a person to be doing this anymore. Then, I think, "Bullshit! I've got plenty to bitch about!" and that lets me know that's not it. Then, I think that maybe I don't have enough time. But I do make the time to consume the culture (I listen to the music and form opinions; and I read the poetry and either laugh or cry). And since I realize that consuming is the biggest time investment, I begin to wonder what the fuck my problem is.

It finally hits me that it's my own grand expectations that get in the way of getting an issue done. I'm constantly wanting an issue chock full o' dazzling content, complete with kick-ass graphics and witty, yet insightful personal commentary—oh, and then I want to lay it out in a way that's easy to navigate.

Well, fuck! I don't have time to be prolific AND wonderful every single time! And if I ever hope to get my shit out on a regular basis, I'd better cut that dreaming out and remember where I've come from.

When I started De'Pressed Int'l (in 1993), this was strictly a cut and paste operation with a couple of hand-held scanned photos and filled with almost nothing but personal shit. It wasn't flashy—wasn't profound—but it was a hell of a lot of fun to get out.

It occurs to me that in these seven years, I've turned into a fucking bureaucrat (having set up submission guidelines, disclaimers and issue strategies), when I used to run this rag by the seat of my pants—partially because I didn't know anything else, but mostly because it felt fucking good to be a renegade. I made and broke rules willy nilly, and dared anybody to question me. And now I'm sitting around screwing with publication schedule dates. What the fuck is my world coming to?!

It's bad enough that I have to follow rules when I'm working for a paycheck, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna hassle over a lot of bullshit details when I've got people threatening me left and right, I'm doing back-breaking mental aerobics trying to keep this shit together, AND I'm not getting paid one red cent for doing it!! And what for? So that some record company exec. or starving artist will think I'm the cat's meow?! (Please! Most of them should be happy that I even bother to comment on the crap they send!)

And since my life is not likely to get any less exciting—which is, in general, a good thing—I am gonna try to go back to the "good old days" of sharing my thoughts with you on a more regular basis whatever form that may take. Finally, after fighting with my own vanity for the past 3 years—and learning to put D.I. in its place with respect to the rest of my swirling vortex of a life—I think this is a commitment I can live up to.

So, I'll stop assigning dates to issues—and may even throw this "theme" thing to the side—and concentrate on "sharing" with anyone who's still interested in reading my low-class lit rantings. (That means, if you're really down, you'll need to subscribe, so that you'll know when the newest rantings are running rampant.)

That said; stop fucking around alright already and dig in!

Bon Appetit,
Victoria