Los Diarios de Zukeen, Vol. 3

Buenos Dias,

It’s Hoffman (finally) reporting in.

Firstly, I apologise for my absence. My sincerest apologies go to the yougins responsible for Hello Zukeen - Sam, Cam and Will. I had some business to take care of in the badlands, way down in South America. It took longer than expected. Well, eight months longer than expected. But the i’s have been dotted and the t’s have been crossed and old Hoffman is free, back on the grid and here to deliver some words to the people of the Zukeen.

Hoffman?’ may you ask. Hoffman Zuringer, the bastard partly responsible for all this Hello Zukeen business. You see, I met three young, lively folk by the name of Cam, Sam and Will (although I prefer to call the last of the three ‘Dan’) in a dive bar in Dunedin. So the story go’s, in a drunken slur, I convinced the pour souls that making a magazine would be a great idea. The words flowed, because like I, the guys were cynical about all this digital media business. Cynical about these shallow, punchy, forgettable media environments. Photos. Captions. All that shit. So why not? Why not dive into an expensive and mostly obsolete medium that goes by the name of ‘print’.

I write to you from a small wooden shack. The wood is coconut. It’s 30 degrees. And it’s 10pm. The sand here is black, although I am definitely not on New Zealand’s West Coast. Another West Coast. I reside in the country that exports a lot of beer. The waves, well for Hoffman anyway, are grunty. Merciless. Imagine drowning and being beaten up at the same time. That’s it.

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So enough about me, lets get back to the Zukeen. I come bearing news from Cam, Sam and Dan. Good news. Issue 3. It’s off to the printers. The shmucks have finished another issue. To be honest, I thought they’d lose heart and quit after the first issue, wailing something like “be damned Hoffman! There’s no money in print! Why’d you sell us on this business?

To be frank, I never sold them. I just pushed them. And the shmucks made another issue. I commend the rascals. There isn’t much left in print. These days, add revenue lives online. I can whip up these words and throw them online with a couple of photos in a matter of minutes, but a magazine, that takes months. It’s a passion project. A way to document a time and place, an energy and a gang of energetic ratbags chasing their dreams with wild abandon.

So Issue 3? It sounds like another shameless orgy of artists, movers, groovers, thinkers and shakers. The guys, once again, have kept this one eclectic. We’re talking a ceramic artist, a voyage to Antarctica, a trip to East Africa, The Single Fin Mingle, oceanography, Marlin’s Dreaming and another talented painter, among other good things. Another issue brimming with talent, this will be another to show the grandkids.

So where to from here? I guess pre-orders or orders, however you like, will be up for grabs by the end of the month. Or early December (these things always take longer than expected). You’ll be able to get your mitts on one and maybe another for your mum. Just in time for Christmas.

Ol’ Hoffman is being eaten by mosquitos. I really must go. Thanks for reading. Issue 3 here we come!

Buenos noches,

Hoffman Zuringer.

Sam Fraser-Baxter