Sunday, August 24, 2008
would you like fakeorange edition number 1?
but you are sad because you do not live in nyc?
its ok baby relax
just email us and we will send you a copy (5$)
get a paypal account ! its the easiest way to make this transaction
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Excerpt from Cheater’s Anonymous
written by Amy Collins
I stopped growing when I got married. That's why I did it.
Ever since I was little I loved to complicate my life. Everything gets easy and dull after awhile. And so, I add things into the mix to give it a little flavor. A pinch of salt, a tablespoon of complication. Marriage is no different.
You start off like any other couple does - everything is new and exciting at first. It always is. The sex is great. The interesting things you say to each other seem endless, and so you say them with fervor, barely stopping to breathe, because you don't yet realize that these topics are not drawn from some infinite well. You go through the tumultuous first few months of living together - and you fight, but the fighting keeps it interesting. Make-up sex is the best kind.
But then one day you wake up and realize that nothing has changed - this relationship is no different from any other, minus the piece of paper that makes you legally, but not unconditionally, bound to each other. Your life becomes tedious...the institution of marriage seems like a fascist dictator, forcing you to conform to daily rituals so excruciatingly boring and dull and repetitive that it makes you want to jump out of the windows you are cleaning. The weight of your situation, of your responsibility, seems like it will crush you, or at the very least suffocate you. You can't seem to breathe like you used to. Like a neglected plant, you begin to shrivel and wilt. But nobody notices...nobody waters you.
Days run into nights until the nights seem to disappear altogether, and only a string of days exist...wake up, work, come home, dinner, bed...wake up.
Then one day you wake up next to a complete stranger. A stranger, who once, knew you more than you thought you knew yourself. A stranger who looks at you with hurt in his face...because he doesn't understand why you seem to have amnesia; don't you remember who I am? Don't you remember how good it was?
But it isn't good anymore. There is nothing to talk about because you've said it all already. There is nothing to do, because the house is already tidy. There is nothing to eat, because you don't feel like fucking food shopping, and to top it off, you don't even want to fuck.
That's when you stop growing.
I met my partner in adultery in my yoga class. My first thought was, he is here just to meet girls. But he seemed pretty apt, pretty nimble, seemed very into it. Afterwards he never lingered, always rushing out as if he had a hot date. He wasn't my type...maybe that's why I wanted him. I normally go for the straight edge clean cut guy, like my husband. No wonder it always ends up boring! This guy looked dirty - and made me think dirty things. He had long hair that he pulled into a loose sloppy ponytail. He had a patch of hair under his lower lip that at first I thought he must have missed shaving - but as the weeks went on, I could tell it was on purpose - he had shaped it into a sort of upside down triangle. He had a nose ring, and wore two silver hoop earrings in each ear. He had no style, or his style was that he had no style. His clothes looked like his pajamas - and he always wore these stupid flip flop sandals that were splattered with paint and cracking all over the place. Although I guess that's better than Birkenstocks with wool socks pulled up to the knees.
He never sat even remotely close to me, never so much as glanced in my direction as far as I could see. He never smiled at me, or fixed his green eyes on me for more than a fleeting second. And so although I found him intriguing, it’s not as if I thought about him constantly. Sometimes I would forget who he was until I walked into class and spread myself out on a mat...and then I'd hear the familiar clapping of his flip flops on the wood floor, and I'd glance up and there he'd be - nodding to the teacher and sitting down cross-legged with his eyes closed until the class started.
But he must have had eyes in back of his head - or perhaps he could see right through his eyelids because he had been watching me.
One day when I left the class I walked onto the street, instantly flinching at the loud intrusive traffic that erased any tranquility I might have gained inside the sanctuary of incense and ohmmmms of the yoga class, bent down to tie my shoe, and saw the flip flops. I knew who they belonged to of course, who else would be prancing around the streets of New York in those decrepit things. I looked up and he was looking down, right at me. His eyes sent a signal right down to my...for lack of a better, cleaner word...cunt. I stood slowly, I must have looked confused. I turned to see if there was anyone else nearby, and that's when I heard him speak for the first time.
"No, it's you I was waiting for."
My heart began to speed up and suddenly I felt socially inept. I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. He held out his hand, and before I even had time to think about it, I took it...and I followed him.
you should all come and enjoy the end of summer. also get very very drunk. maybe even so drunk that you never want to drink again. and then your life will also improve drastically because you wont be an alcohol abuser and then you will do things like take out the trash, not cheat on your boyfriend, and go to bed on time! you will thank us later
here is the flyer!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
we quickly realized that the quality of work we were getting was worthy of something more. it didnt belong in a low-budget publication with a half-assed fold job and a few crappy staples. it needed to be printed on higher quality paper. it cried out for more space. it screamed for silkscreened covers. it DEMANDED that we craft each one with love. and we decided that we needed to make not 50, not 100, not even 200, but a whopping 250 copies. (how we really arrived at that number i will never know!)
and so our journey began. after the whole shebang was designed and printed, we lugged a ridiculously heavy box of zinelings back to brooklyn to turn them into the hunky zines they were meant to be.
the bone folder or "bone flute" as we lovingly called it became our best friend, as each and every sheet of paper was folded by hand.
after the folding came the task of cutting the pages in half, yielding two zines for the folding price of one. this was probably the part that created the most anxiety because:
a.) the papercutter has no handle so fingers were always in danger and
b.) one mess up would ruin two precious zines.
the covers! each one front and back cut from a sheet of railroad board! (whatever that is)!
and then hand silkscreened!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
now that we've sort of done that we wanted to mark our entrance into the adult art world with a magnificent creation that would take all of our time and energy (and of course blood, sweat, and tears). we once again pooled our fresh young minds to create something that would bring fakeorange back full force into our lives and yours.
this summer we decided to create a zine featuring the original members of our collective plus some of the ones we've picked up through the years. and as if that weren't enough, we've added some of our personal favorites into the mix.
we're all really excited about the way it turned out and are anxious to get it out there.
we have really high expectations for what fakeorange will eventually become (a design/fabrication studio full of the most brilliant artists) and consider this zine the first step toward that goal.