Get regular updates by subscribing to our mailing list! Send an email.
Welcome to issue 12.5.
In the past 10 months, I've been a web publisher, an editor, a web designer, director of photography, grip, audio engineer, even a roadie. We redesigned the website, the magazine, the short-term content. We changed our work flow and started to take on bigger guests and even bigger events. Behind the scenes, our features were getting more complex and more demanding across the board, each issue requiring more time, more planning, and more equipment than the last. To be honest, I can't even remember what the old website looked like and it hasn't even been a year since we redesigned the site.
And the entire time, I've been doing it in true Folks Press style: last minute and by the seat of my pants.
So for me, this is a landmark issue, perhaps the landmark issue.
This is the first issue since the redesign, hell, since I started, where I've been able to play media mogul. I finally had enough raw content to delve into the proverbial filing cabinet and pick and choose what I wanted to show, and decide how I wanted to show it. I had carte blanche. And best of all, this time, there was no chasing down my writer in a mad rush to meet the deadline. The content was all there, slightly stale and in its raw “weekly” format, but it was there. Now all I needed to do was choose and decide; how hard could that be?
The cliché answer would be some platitude about difficult choices and wanting to keep everything. There would be much tearing of hair and plenty of sleepless nights. Thankfully, it was nothing of the sort; this was, after all, my chance to play favorites. There were no feelings to hurt. You see, everything had been published before: there were no rejections, per se.
So began my ruthless cull; swarths of images fell to my editors pen as I cut my way through the proverbial filing cabinet, rejecting entire months outright.
After the dust settled, what remained was a collection of my favorite content, selections “carefully” picked from each series. Now what? A loosely-tied pile of pictures and words littered my desktop and that wasn't enough. Maybe they could stand alone and speak for themselves, but I doubted it. They needed something special, like, say, a new approach with a healthy dose of chutzpah. This was a hell of a lot harder than choosing. Now I actually had to be creative; I could still be picky, but I had to be creative about it.
So I got creative. The result? Well I'll let you see for yourselves. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have, and don't forget to check out the entire weekly collection. >>>
-Arthur Chang, Folks Press Chief Publishing Officer
One more thing. I have no doubt that issue 13 will see a return to mad dash towards our familiar looming deadline. I'll have to sit, and bite my nails, and pray I won't have to publish another issue two weeks late…
…and maybe, just maybe, that's how it should be.
In 3 is Colin's outlet for the weird and zany encounters that come standard with day-to-day life. Whether it's a 5 second snippet of conversation or an uninvited visit from a particularly caustic avian, they are photographed and cataloged and displayed.
Off all the weekly series, In 3 is our most prolific, with more than 25 entries since we added the weekly communiqués. In fact, In 3 is our longest uninterrupted series, dating back to the birth of the magazine and the very first issue. Needless to say, lack of content was hardly an issue.
To make The News In 3 the lead feature for issue 12.5 took some work. There wasn't really a cohesive narrative, no “glue” to hold them together as a cohesive piece, other than the fact that they were written by the same man. Trying to force fit all of them into an identical format works in isolation but it wasn't good enough. The best part of In 3 is the variety, the way it flits from one topic to the next, alighting briefly then picking up and whizzing away. And thanks to that capricious nature, I had to break out the creative hat.
more In 3 >>>
In the end, each picture and entry required a different take. Some draw inspiration from trends in Internet graphics in the late 'aughts, early 'teens, but most share heritage with their dead-tree brethren. So as you flip through the slides, picture a glossy double-page spread from the heyday of print periodicals and remember, there is, in fact, news in every moment.
There is more B-Roll footage here >>>Story Tellers
B-roll is just an excuse to make pretty moving pictures. Nothing else to see here.
Move along, move along.
Find more misplaced felines here >>>Story Tellers
Please Call is my baby. Introduced as a new feature tailored specifically for the weeklies, it is very much a feast or famine affair, with seasonal swings in supply. My favorites, and most of the ones you see here, are the weird and wacky, the ones that are slightly off-kilter, but in a good way. Well mostly. Some are undeniably tragic, and the whole premise behind the lost pet sign is hardly one you're supposed to enjoy. The found pet signs are little better; what guarantee is there that pet and owner will ever be reunited? If not, will the finder be able to provide the pet a warm home and new family, or will they be sent to a shelter? And don't get me started on the signs that have been so weathered by time as to be unintelligible. It's a grim business, so why do I do it?
It started when I began taking long walks at ungodly hours around Southeast Portland. I would pick a direction and walk until my legs grew tired and I ran out of juice. Then I would turn around and retrace my steps, arriving home exhausted and just in time for bed. Sometimes, I would leave at sunset and try to chase the last glorious rays of amber and gold. Other days, I would head east and try to beat sunrise to the horizon (I always lost). And once in a while, I got hopelessly lost and found myself seven miles from home because someone decided it would be smart to put crosswalks at funny angles across Foster.
Anyway, it was on these walks that I really started paying attention to all the lost pet signs scattered across the city. They fascinated me in a macabre sort of way; here was a person pleading for help, trying to recover a missing part of their life, using these signs to expose an intimate part of their life for all to see. The mindset required was nothing short of amazing.
And then things got weird.
Every time I caught one in the corner of my eye, I had to stop and stare; there was something about them that just didn't sit right, something horribly, terrifyingly, wrong.
Thing is, they may have different names and different faces, they can be printed or hand written or pasted together á la a good, old fashioned ransom note, but in the end, they were all the same. It was the same language, the same syntax, the same format (a picture and a short plea for help with lost written in big capitals at the top). Hell, they were almost always fixed to the ever versatile street pole at near enough the same height. It was almost as if there was a governing body out there, secretly standardizing the lost <insert noun here> sign. It was a conspiracy. I'd let the cat out of the bag. Now I was a hunted man, and they had eyes on every street corner.
Now, I'll have you know that I'm not entirely stupid. Putting the sensationalism aside, I know that a sign bearing “LOST” is pretty hard to misinterpret, and pictures are pretty damn useful when all you have to go on is “white fluffy cat,” and yes, five feet off the ground is more-or-less eye level for a good chunk of the human race. But let's not get bogged down in practicalities.
So, now I couldn't get away from them. Everywhere I went, everywhere I traveled, hell, I even saw one posted just off an eight-lane highway, in the middle of a desert, miles from any residential area; how did it even get there? Who was it for? I needed a way to get these signs off my back or I would go nuts. And what better way than to put them up on a website for all to see. Sharing the “joys” of my discovery, as it were.
After all, they can't call you crazy if they see it too…
Proud Owner is another weekly series that has been around since the magazine first took off in 2012. Originally destiny's pet project, proud owner quickly became a folks' favorite; so much, in fact, that folks started sending in their own proud owning mugs.
Now, we want you to go out and proud own. Get out a camera and show us just how styling you can be.
1. a clever, taunting, or funny comment usually made on the spur of the moment. 2. a neologism of vague or unidentifiable origin heard while out on the town, usually describing a newly observed behavior or characteristic.
So who are these mystery quippers? Where are all these strange new words comming from? Maybe we'll never know, but Quips is our way of keeping a finger on the pulse of the English language.
After all, as crafters of the written word, it's kind of important.
Find the rest of the weekly quips here >>>
Kings and queens have passed. Empires have fallen. Governments failed. Cities crushed and crumbled. Kings and Queens reestablished. Empires redrawn. Governments hailed. Cities rise.
Rain wears stone to silt. Silt washes to the sea.
While the peculiar endures in a regular way. And the regular begets the peculiar. On occasion, we have a video camera at the ready. And catch the world going round. Lucky pennies that bring bad luck. Unsuccessful regurgitation acts. Calls to save the hippies. Frightened rooster heads in the Caymans. Yup.
Thirty-two seconds, sixty seconds, or five. We’re craving those moments.
Join us. Tell us. Or send us your 32 seconds.
Watch the rest of our 32 Seconds >>>
The Folks Press Weekly is an impression of things, large and small, happening in the world, on a weekly basis.
A camera points at two dogs lounging on a sidewalk. The dogs respond, taking positions. And they strike a pose. Which begs the question: what do dogs know about cameras? More than we think, apparently. Albeit they think about it like a dog.
It makes a difference how stuff is put together. A single photograph is a still. Two photos of the same thing at different times is a movie. There’s the title for your car, ownership. And then there is truly owning your car, yo. Light is invisible. Yet it makes everything else visible.
Language surrounds us. There’s a girl. And there’s a bink-bink girl. Cell phone in hand, short skirt and high heels, walking with a staccato gait that goes: “bink bink bink.” All the way to the bar. Someone strolls past a building. Or someone strolls past an alarming architectural trend. Rows of massive, sun-blocking structures—a bleak stylistic marriage between Soviet-era barracks and an Ikea bookshelf—thrown up in otherwise quiet, residential neighborhoods. No word existed for this violation, until one recently emerged. The Blöckenstöck.
People are everywhere in objects. Over here is a poster on a light pole, dance party. While over here is a plea for help, a poster tacked up in an attempt to recover a missing part of someone’s life, in the open, for all to see. Please call.
Worlds are right in front of us, brushing shoulders, absolutely anywhere. Just because we don’t notice something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. We’ve been misled. When a tree falls in the woods, it does make a noise. A very loud noise.
We were simply not listening.Enjoy Issue 12.5. Our listening post.