I couldn’t go out because I was sick. Strep throat. My tonsils looked like a fresco painting. I’ve had strep before, but this was the first time the doc warned me to go to the E.R. if I started drooling because I couldn’t swallow.

It was a Friday night and I was sitting home alone. Usually it would be my personal hell. On nights like that I can feel the human tumult out there in the bars and movie theaters and diners. It pulls like the desire for coffee in the morning, and leads to putrid introspective ponderings: What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I just go out?

Yeah, yeah. Bitch, bitch. Moan, moan. The thing is, the night wasn’t that bad because I was reading someone else’s introspective thoughts. I was reading about how Martha from Portland used to clean houses in issue three of “Somnambulist,” a zine, and it was taking my mind off things. I took comfort, too, while holding the Xeroxed and stapled book, knowing that someone else’s hands had actually built the little pamphlet I was reading. Not for 12 cents a day either, but a labor of love. Mmm...Limburger.

There was something else about the zine that was working for me that wasn’t exactly apparent. What the heck makes a zine a zine, anyway? This article’s on zines, but I didn’t know a thing about them except for having a few high school friends who were into them. But the thing is, those kids back then were into Dungeons and Dragons, so I kinda kept my distance. What to do? Where to go?

I e-mailed Martha Grover up in Portland and asked her what she thought.

She replied: “The most appealing thing about zines for me is how incredibly personal they are. When you buy one, you really feel like you are getting to know someone. This is something that mainstream media can’t even touch. There is also a real feeling of community among zinesters. People aren’t really out to turn a profit. It’s all about self -expression and supporting cool stuff.”

I’d gotten a few zines earlier that day at Needles and Pens, a little shop on 14th Street. I’d met Breezy Culbertson and made arrangements to get together with her and Andrew Scott to discuss how they run the shop. I went back there a few days later to find out more about these dinky zine dealies.

It was hella cold that day, and I found volunteer Brook Dillon watching a DVD-zine on the store’s computer, shivering in his blue nylon winter coat. The guy was a well of zine info. The hand-made thing always seemed like an important component of zines, and I asked Brook about it.

“That seems to be the holy grail of zineness,” said Monsieur Volunteer. “Integrity, generosity, sharing what you’ve been through, and packaging your experience with pride.”

Hmm. Oh yeah, the whole volunteer thing. Seems the store doesn’t make quite enough money to be able to pay anyone, so people volunteer. The place is as much a community outpost as anything else. Most things are on consignment, and the back room is devoted to an art gallery. Biophilia, the next show, runs through April 9.

Two days later, I showed up just a couple minutes early for an interview/photo-session with Breezy and Andrew. Breezy was bustling about the shop, tidying up – her hair and makeup immaculately done. Andrew was sitting behind the desk clicking on the computer, wearing fingerless wool gloves and chewing on a toothpick. Classic. “Take Five” was playing from speakers in the ceiling.

Andrew is the author of Sobstory. It’s the second zine series he’s done. The first one, called Kumquat, was born out of necessity. He’d been skating and listening to punk rock since high school. He tried forming bands, but they would always fall apart after a few months. Writing a zine was an easy do-it-yourself way to be part of the scene. On the first page of Sobstory number seven, he says that zines are “spontaneous and quick literature for the punk rock attention span.”

Breezy sells her clothing line, Strandid, out of the shop, and gets plenty of things in on consignment as well. For her, making clothes was also born out of a punk rock necessity. Punk rock clothiers were few and far between once, and the ones who where around were expensive. She also points out that, well, isn’t it cooler to have something unique?

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