Proof of concept
ISSUES #12
letter from the editor
Allow me a moment dear reader to pun intended pat myself on the back. This publication has hit newsstands reached inboxes once a month monthly for twelve consecutive months and a lap around the calendar feels worth acknowledging.
ISSUES, a newsletter / reading list / time capsule / homage to the print magazine. This project began as an effort to remind myself that the place we are today (collectively) was arrived at slowly over time (whether we were paying attention or not) and artifacts of culture (like magazines) preserve our old ways of life in amber.
Last June, I was writing as a way to make connections across what I’d been reading. The thoughts were initially quiet and linear, but once I was in the habit, words came out more easily, sprawling in different directions. Writing begot clarity which begot more writing. With each month I gained a better sense of what I was doing / thinking / plotting / scheming.
My life looked very different twelve months ago and I’m glad to have been writing through it. I’m unsure whether I’ll continue delivering the goods on the regular (this and last month’s newsletters were published by the skin of my teeth on the final day of the month, so we’ll see if I stick to monthly delivery moving forward), but with a year’s body of work to reflect on, I am able to look back proudly. ISSUES now serves as a time capsule of my own thoughts / taste / pattern recognition / growth. It is there for me to look back on, reread, and learn from. Thank you to everyone who has been here reading it with me.
~ pat
Mirror of time
Highlight of the month was making a pilgrimage home to Chicagoland to catch local legends Twin Peaks make a long awaited return to the stage. The band had not played together in six years, when lockdown pulled the best live act on the planet off the road. In the years that followed, their absence was noticeable, but the dudes were around. While they put out lovely solo projects (Colin, Cadien, Clay) and worked the door at your favorite dive bars, the group remained quiet. Eventually I assumed that the band as we knew it was a thing of the past.
Twin Peaks had shown no signs of stopping before the novel coronavirus abruptly stopped them. The fellas were set to tour Australia that April and had already been announced for Pitchfork Music Festival that July. Samuel Hine interviewed them for GQ in late 2019, wherein they acknowledged their exhaustion after a decade on the road but expressed a willingness to stay out touring.
Some bands are studio bands, some bands are live bands; this band is the latter. On stage this their excellence shines with equals parts songwriting, musicianship, performance, and charm. The magic has been captured on two great live albums, both recorded at the majestic Thalia Hall. When they announced a two night reunion at their favorite venue last November, tickets sold out in minutes, so they added more shows, two at a time up to eight in total. (Halfway through the residency, they would announce a ninth night, where they’d play two sets). Chicago’s favorite dudes were poised for a triumphant comeback.
Twin Peaks: The Return did not disappoint. A true rock n’ roll band, their shows feel a bit like an exorcism. The crowd knows when to move and it knows when to jump and it knows when to dance because the music instructs the crowd. Five buds (plus a few extras on stage for this run) got back together after some time away and have managed to sound better than they’ve ever been. The time apart made room for these guys each to grow and improve, without impacting the bond (musical and brotherly) they had before.
In attendance with me were my three best buds; one a friend since childhood, one since college, and the third since moving to California. My boys. After the show I saw other beautiful familiar faces from my time in Chicago, all bumping into each other at the Rainbo Club. Some like myself had come back from out of town, prodigal sons returning home. Someone said it felt like a family reunion. Truly one of the most fun nights of my life, where everything felt familiar (needle drop Djo.) One band conjured all that magic, brought us all back to that moment for a moment. Twin Peaks proved they’ve still got it. I hope the dudes keep playing together for years to come.
~ P.S. while I never recommend wearing a band’s merch to their show, if that band is playing nine nights in a row, go ahead and wear their merch the next day. All day Saturday, people came up to ask me if I was going to one of the shows, to ask how it was, to ask me my name. Twin Peaks dudes were bringing total strangers together in the name of rock n’ roll music.
At one point someone friendly honked at me in the crosswalk; I looked up and saw bass player Jack Dolan poking his head out the passenger window. “Hey, I like that shirt,” he said smirking.
“Yooo! You guys fuckin crushed it last night!” I shouted as he drove off, on his way to go crush it again, seven more nights in a row.
Funny how the other private schools had no hapa club
“California English” Vampire Weekend, 2010
ICYMI there’s been a lotta chatter this month on Al Gore’s Internet about a meetup in Central Park organized and attended by people like myself who have one white parent and one Asian (broadly defined) parent. A race-based hangout is a highly questionable move in the first place, but it’s not hard for me to understand the mindset of these losers, for I am one of them (embarrassing). They grew up around their white families, occupying white spaces, advancing through white institutions, seeking acceptance from white people. A meetup in the park is a transparent and desperate cry for identity recognition and acceptance. These kids understandably wanna commiserate about how weird their individual mixed race experience was, but they’re looking for community through a confoundingly narrow lens.
That’s why you’ll never catch me referring to myself, or any of us, as ‘wasian’. It’s a narrow / hollow / flat term; very corny imho. Being mixed race is great in large part because it is very broad and encompasses wide experience. (Census data from 2020 estimates that 10.2% of the national population, thirty-four million people in this country, identify as multi-racial.) Growing up mixed gives you high level observation skills, which might be why we are so good at clocking each other out in the wild. We sit on a fence and we can see into two different yards, different contexts, which we are a part of. We are welcome in both, and also questioned in both, so we have grown to notice the differences of each space. In my experience, that’s pretty universal to anybody who comes from any two cultures. So I guess ultimately, my advice to ‘wasians’ who wanna have their experiences validated is simply to broaden your expectation of who else might be able to share in it.
~ P.S. I learned the term mixed, true story, at age ten from Ann Curry, co-host of The Today Show. That’s the term she bestowed on me, so that’s what I use.
ISSUE 12
Most of my article reading is done in transit, most often on the BART. This month, across six flights, almost all of my reading got done in the air. Two standout articles were profiles on Wendell Berry (The New Yorker, 2022) and Ricky Williams (Esquire, 2004) which I read on my trip to visit pals in Gardiner, Maine. Both of these men were interviewed in their respective solitudes, seeking a life outside of society and in tune with the environment. Those sentiments were echoed on my trip, where my friends and I ate home cooked meals, strolled around the farm where my buddy makes cheese, and watched bald eagles cruise about above the Kinnebec River. Unbelievable stuff.
Also among the article scans this month are two articles I wish I’d found for last month’s newsletter: a New Yorker personal essay about selling your Marie Kondo’d discards, and coverage of a corporate tax loophole from Rolling Stone circa Obama I. We round things out with Crying in H Mart, Jamie xx, and Entertainment Weekly’s homage to it’s own history.
Read if you: like old magazine covers / file taxes / did some spring cleaning / remember watching Ricky Williams play football / romanticize a different type of lifestyle / need a trip outside of the city / want to read a mixed-Asian perspective about identify and life and loss and creativity / like club music but don’t like the club
Shouts to Mas, Meggo, and Mac for hosting me in Maine. Shout out to seeing your old pals raise a beautiful young lad, shout out to the conversations you have with people who you have grown up alongside. Shouts to seeing live music with your boys, shouts to Evan and Jake for coming to Chicago with me, shouts to Lou forever and always. Shouts to hanging with the fellas, shouts to Rainbo Club shouts to James and Zo, extra shouts to Virinchi and Ryan for your kind words about the ‘stack. Shouts out to being inspired by your friends, shouts out to telling your friends you like their work.
Shouts to Kat for being patient with the snail mail. Shouts to Katherine for excitedly passing on your copy of The Omnivore’s Dilemma. Shouts to Kate for being my writing guru, it’s always reassuring to know that even the professionals need to give themselves a deadline. Shouts to Alden for co-troubleshooting, and for witnessing this project irl in all its messiness.
Shouts to all the homies sending out invites for this summer, the partiful text blasts are piling up. Feeling optimistic in a way that always accompanies the longest days of the year. Looking forward to this summer and to seeing you all out and about.
