The end

Well, that’s it. The paperwork is in. And within three to five business days, or however long it takes one government employee to key in the information, that once lofty idea of being the editor of a lesbian magazine will be nothing but a dream.

Artists formerly known as Bound Magazine.
Artists formerly known as Bound Magazine.

Just before it goes away forever, I want to take one last moment to remember the wonderful moments of this endeavor, while overlooking the frustrating, stressful and toxic times that made me want to chew the side of my face.

Like those late nights, working with the girls, on the issue that was going live the following morning. Only the night would turn into early morning and was riddled with passive aggressive snarks and of promises to never procrastinate again.

Or like the lesbian dictionary I created with more than 100 entries of really clever lesbian puns. Only to find out that no one thought it was that funny.

Or like going to tons of events and always being on the list, even though there was never a list. But still, it was the illusion of being on the list that counted. Oh and going around and snapping 3,000 pictures of the lovely women at the party, but later noticing that we took 3,000 photos of the same four lesbians.

Or like that day we interviewed Melissa Etheridge, but we couldn’t get a proper cell phone signal.

Or being at the helm on June 26th when the Supreme Court struck down the Defense of Marriage Act and Proposition 8. It was a spectacular day to be gay and an even more spectacular day to be super gay, like the editor-at-large of a lesbian e-zine.

On that fateful evening at the Miami Lakes Ale House when I agreed to take a risk and create this thing with two women I hardly knew, there was no way to predict how it would all go. And it went pretty well for a while – a year-and-a-half to be exact. But the time has come to let the dream go.

For the good laughs, for the 8-hour meetings, and even for the ridiculous non-fights about things that weren’t important, I am grateful.

Bon voyage BOUND.

Come sail away

No. You’re not crazy. It was just a little more than a year ago that you read my three-part series bidding bon voyage to the cruise industry. The thing is ships have a funny way of making it back to port, and I have a knack for finding a way to board them.

So, I’ve left the old Alma mater to return to the sea, but not without racking up some pretty awesome memories. Here are just a few:

Traveled to Nicaragua with this guy and earned the title of producer for his brilliant documentary films. He even let me shoot a little.
Attended my first college football game. I spent three quarters of it in the parking lot and the last quarter at Denny’s.
Received a Master of Arts in Linguistical Fancy. Not only is linguistical not a word, but also my name is spelled wrong. For these, and many other reasons, this diploma is framed on my wall.
Marco Polo
Made it completely acceptable to play a blind-folded game of Marco Polo around the office. Perhaps there was also a secret, after-hours game of Hide’n Seek. Maybe.
Office Glee
Convinced the office to dress up like characters from “Glee.” Although they all claimed to have never watched the show, they individually nailed their parts.

There was the week I spent at band camp, and the April Fool’s video that was pulled off of the interwebs. And, how can I forget the major knee injury I earned while sliding across the student union while dressed as a turkey. There’s so much more, but I won’t bother sharing them. Those memories are the ones I’ll keep in my permanent suitcase, as I’m once again waving to my friends from the bow of a ship.