I hate to love to hate Al Burian. I mean, I love to hate him and I hate it. I wish I could just hate him, but I love to hate him so much that it makes me kind of love him. And every new thing I read of his makes me fall into a deeper love/hate with him. If his books were any longer, I'd probably tip over into just hating him.
Al in Chicago, Germany, & Rome. A favorite moment: he is stuck at a train station, so he calls upon the adventurous attitude of an old friend— “There is only one thing to do, I realize. I have to shift my paradigm here... Quietly, I clasp my hands together and bow my head in the gesture of a prayer. ‘Non stop party’ wagon, I whisper. ‘Non stop party wagon’… within moments, I can hear the soft refrigerator hum of harnessed electrons all around me…” and it all works out! 😆
my favorite part: when al meets gunther on the train in germany. gunther of the 80s style wraparound shades persuasion. he travels to hamburg for work and back to berlin on weekends; his girlfriend of 32 years just died two days ago; his son is in the hospital, and he's got a dead end job.
al's take? "i too might wear wrap-around shades if faced with a landscape of such dimensions."
Love Al Burian, and while his jaunts around Europe can feel a little trust fund, the writing always makes up for it. I always deeply resent people like Burian, who can go anywhere and make friends with strangers, but I love reading their stories.
While I am not an avid reader of zines, Al Burian is probably one of my favorite authors of the medium. In #13, Burian discusses his travels to Europe and his love for the Minutemen. It has been a while, so I'll keep this short. Highly recommended.
Al Burian sets your brain on fire and blows your heart apart. A journalist along the lines of Zola and Balzac, but better. I'm not kidding. Give Al Burian whatever he wants.