Let’s get physical, physical

Back when I was a wee-teenage rascal (a role I kept up well into my twenties), my friends and I used to film and edit our own little skate videos. We’d pirate music to play over the top of our totally sick stunts. We’d come up with silly skits to fill the interludes. We’d add titles and credits and bonus features. And we’d throw in all kinds of other fun stuff that made us laugh. Then, we’d hold a premiere at someone’s house to unveil the video we’d made together. It was awesome. And it quickly became something I loved about skateboarding that extended beyond the act itself.

One of my favourite parts of that process was giving all the boys a physical copy of the video to take home. I’d burn the DVDs on my MacBook Pro, make cover art for the cases, and hand them out at the end of the night with a smile and a super-secret skateboarder handshake. Even back then (when I had less foresight than a goldfish) it felt important to create something tangible that would encapsulate all the good times we’d shared. A memento of sorts. And to this day, I still have a copy of each video we made.

This went on for years, right until the landscape of digital media changed. DVDs went the way of the Walkman. And YouTube and ‘The Gram’ became the preeminent spaces where digital content lived. After a whole lot of kicking and screaming, eventually, I ceded to this change. In one sense, that change was more convenient and efficient. But in another sense, I felt like I’d been robbed of something. Something tangible. Something I could gift. Something I could put on my bookshelf and forget about; and then, at some much later date, stumble upon to be reminded of that time in my life and the people I shared it with. Yep, the ever-churning combine of ‘progress’ tore all that to shreds. With nothing more than ‘a few clicks’ it saw to it that those videos no longer had a home in the world in which they were made. Instead, they now lived in this completely intangible and abstract place I didn’t understand and couldn’t touch. A disquieting murmur of disconnection has echoed in my ears ever since.

I found myself holding one of those old skate videos the other day. Wiping the dust from its tired cover I started thinking about how strange it was to have lived through that change. How quickly it all happened. And how having come to writing so late in the game, I’ve never thought twice about the fact that nearly all the pieces I’ve written exist in the same way: on some intangible-online-cloud-thingy we call Substack. And while I’m so happy that this online space has enabled me to connect with so many people I otherwise wouldn’t have, as I stood there holding that skate video, that hum of disquiet grew louder.

Working in the ineffably synchronistic way the Universe does, the very next day I received an actual postcard (in the mail!) from kaylen alexandra (one of my Substack friends who you should all subscribe to). Not long after I received a handwritten letter from Michael Steele (another one of my Substack friends who you should all subscribe to). Then, while pondering where to put my new keepsakes, I glanced at the bookshelf that holds books from Kimberly Warner, Mr. Troy Ford, and April R. Holmes (more of my Substack friends who you should all subscribe to). Gazing upon all these tangible tokens I felt a fire light under my ass. A fire that exploded into a super cool, radically retro, and totally awesome idea: I, The Curious Platypus, would make my very own piece of physical media to give to you, my fabulous readers.

And so, drum roll please. . . I made my first ever zine!

I had a whole lot of fun making this whimsically whacky thing and I would be absolutely thrilled to send a copy to all my Substack homies – you know who you are! I mean, I fucking love you people and I want to break through this intangible-online-wall-thingy to give you a memento that encapsulates just how much I appreciate our connection. (I’m hoping it will make you laugh and smile too.)

So, if you’re brave enough, bold enough, and weird enough to accept my half-baked-cockamamie creation, inside you’ll find:

A poem

A question

Artwork

Jokes

Quotes

Platypus facts

A short piece never shared on Substack

A wee secret

A micro story about Evie (The Chicken)

And the world’s first – Curious Platypus stickers (woooohoooo!)

The zine is completely free, of course. All you have to do is let me know you want a copy down in the comments (or via DM or email or carrier pigeon…) and I’ll do the rest. So, please friends, make my day by grabbing one before they’re all gone.

If you’d like to see The Curious Platypus create a zine empire – consider becoming a paid subscriber… Your subscription will go towards the purchase of my first print shop ;)