Editor’s Letter

I recently read an article that a magazine produced a whole issue without going into their office once! Mindblowing stuff, I know. I can see why this would be a newsworthy story. Well, fuck you magazine that produced an issue without going into the office, we did this whole issue on the beach. And I wrote this whole editor’s letter without wearing socks or a shirt.

Summer is all about sitting on the beach and getting drunk when you least expect it. However, sometimes there is a magazine to do. So we decided to multitask and combine the two. How is doing this possible, you ask? Well it’s really not that hard now that you can get the internet at the beach. How great is that? Who wants to read a book when you can Facebook instead?

All you need to do is plug in one of those fancy internet usb sticks or tether your iPhone to your computer with Bluetooth. I cannot wait to see my data charges at the end of the month! Life is tough. It’s not easy putting together a magazine on the beach. The sand is an issue. Not only does it get between your toes but it also gets in your keyboard. And you can’t merely wash it all off at one of those showers by the concession stand. We would have finished this issue weeks ago if we didn’t have to spend so much time cleaning our laptops with q-tips.

Then there are all the distractions. Did you know women are now allowed to run around topless on public beaches without fear of being arrested? And not even exclusively at the weird hippy beach where the unemployed hang out and do mushrooms. Female doctors and lawyers and bankers are running around tits out and rubbing sunblock on each other at even the most family friendly beaches these days. You go girls! Assert your hard-fought-for rights and never take them for granted (I’ve been in the sun all day and might be imagining this).

And then there’s the sun! Nevermind how hard it is to Photoshop Yo-Landi from Die Antwoord’s hair when the sun’s glaring on your computer screen. The real pain in the ass is sunburn. Oh, the sun’s deadly rays can be unforgiving. Fortunately we have a sexy young intern to slather sunblock on our pasty skin. His name is Zia and he has magically soft hands.

Wanna be less productive? Crack open a drink. Even one can totally throw a wrench in the production of a magazine. With each successive drink, productivity goes down till it degenerates into hours of “Hey look at these funny pictures of cats I found on the internet.” A month ago we were all busy Icing each other—a fun summer game where you force your friends to drink Smirnoff Ice at hilarious and inopportune moments. Now we’ve actually started drinking Palm Bay coolers. Not for a joke, but because they’re tasty.

We do this magazine with cellphones, laptops, iChat, pirated software and a printer that’s so old, the paper has those perforated edges on it. We do it in cramped apartments, tiny offices, patios and even the beach. A lot of times it’s like trying to build a skyscraper with glue and popsicle sticks. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Also, I am eating a popsicle right now. It’s delicious. I can never resist the siren’s song of the ice cream truck.

Words: Michael Mann
Photography: Toby Marie Bannister