Issue Five contributors Danny Jones and Jonpaul Douglass have started a new monthly online publication dedicated to gentlemen and the crafts that they love. Grain & Gram interviews men immersed in, and enthralled by, the process of making things.  The second issue went live yesterday and features letterpress guru Nick Sambrato, of Mama’s Sauce Print Shoppe. My favorite thing about G&G is the scroll-ability of the page. Most websites are obsessively all about the clicks. Danny’s meticulous attention to detail and angular design style paired with Jonpaul’s rich, textured photos eliminate any desire to leave a page, making the G&G reading experience a smooth and engaging one. Cheers to Danny and Jonpaul for, yet again, making something very cool. Looking forward to seeing who they spotlight next.

Happy Birthday,  USA.

I hope you did something yesterday to make you feel patriotic and I hope you didn’t work, like more than a few people did.

If you did work, you probably felt like you were in Communist Russia. And last time I checked, this was still America. Tell that Rooski boss of yours to quit treading on you.

I hope you ate some American food.

And saw some things that reminded you why this country does, on occasion, kick much ass.

It’s on 44th street in between 5th and 6th. Wear a sport coat (they won’t let you in without one) and slacks, preferably a dark color, with a button down shirt. You don’t have to wear a tie, in fact it’s probably better if you don’t. You don’t want to appear like you’re overcompensating by dressing too fancy.

The Harvard Club is also a hotel. There’s a front desk which you can’t avoid and the people working behind it are going to ask you if there’s anything they can help you with. Tell them you’re meeting someone at the bar. They will direct you to it. After you’ve breached the first line of security you’re free to roam the premises.

It’s important to walk around like you’ve got somewhere important to be. Or at least like you belong there. If you double-take or second guess your steps, they’ll get suspicious. There’s always someone watching.

There are secluded areas like this one. It is hard to imagine what these spaces, if anything, get used for anymore. It seems like anyone who’d be attending the Harvard Club would either confine themselves to the business room, a small bank of desktop PCs, or the bar.

If you wanted to you could probably sit here for hours, reading. Though that would probably spark suspicion since it’s unlikely anyone ever does this.

Take a picture of the debate fliers that your friend, Bob, would get a kick out of. Lift back one of these frames, find that it is a safe cover, find that the safe is unlocked, find that there is a key in the safe, find that there is a corresponding lock across the hallway in a secret wooden panel, find that the door leads you down into a secret fraternity spanking dungeon.

The Algonquin Hotel is two doors down. Stop in and take a picture. Try to feel a connection, to be moved or wowed by the legacy of New York writers bred by this place. Feel nothing.

There is some cool shit happening tonight if you live in Orlando: Annalemma is sponsoring “Hello from Florida: Photographs of the Sunshine State” a photo show curated by none other than our own print designer, Jen O’Malley.

The show will feature all works by Floridian photographers including Annalemma contributors Rose Wind Jerome, Ryan Marshall, Kim Vang and Wheat Wurtzburger.

6-10pm at Gallery at Avalon Island (39 South Magnolia Ave. Orlando, FL 32801) as part of the Snap! Orlando Photography Festival. Come on out folks, it’s gonna be tighter than my hands around the throats of BP Oil executives, given the opportunity.

The idea behind 48 Hour Magazine is an interesting one: Using all the tools of media available today to create a magazine that’s cool, fast and cheap.

In the opening letter the editors state they’re trying to marry the immediacy of the web with the permanence and beauty of print. A few weeks ago they announced a call to submit, people gave them their email addresses and the editors of fired off the starter pistol in the form of announcing the theme. Then a 48 hour frenzy of writing, photographing, illustrating and designing an entire 59 page magazine. Using a print-on-demand service called Mag Cloud, they uploaded a PDF file, figured out how much to charge for the magazine (Mag Cloud charges 20 cents per page) then folks go online, order it and it gets printed and shipped to them in a couple of days. Take a moment to catch your breath.

The only thing I’m having a problem with is this “beauty of print” part of the equation. While the print design is clean and straightforward, the images colorful and immediate, the actual quality of the book itself is inscrutable from anything you’ll find on the newsstands. I guess when I think of the “beauty of print” I think of magazines like Cabinet or McSweeneys, publications that treat the magazine as an artifact, another arena and opportunity to make something beautiful, to make a statement, and hopefully differentiate itself as much as possible from anything you could ever find on the web. But maybe that’s just me holding unrealistic standards.

The content is fun and resonant, the charts and graphs are colorful and informative. But the words seem to only skim the surface, a roadblock they no doubt hit due to their time constraint. It’s hard to come up with in-depth writing in less than two days.

The most impressive and appealing thing about 48HR is the speed with which it was created, a speed that speaks to the youthful feel of the book. The energy and exceitment, even the theme of the issue (Hustle), radiate this kind of vibrancy and possibility that’s downright sexy.

Final verdict: awesome (revolutionary?) media experiment. Future of print? Debatable.

If you’ve got some time to kill delving into a Tumblr check out Now I Remember, an ongoing collection of cell phone photos from Tino Razo, Neckface, Jerry Hsu, Curtis Buchannan, Jen Reynolds, Kevin Long, Aaron Bonderoff and Issue Six contributor, Todd Jordan. These folks did a show of all cell phone photos in Tokyo recently, and apparently liked it so much they’re not stopping. Add it to your feeder for an intermittent dose of raw goodness.

Introducing the Annalemma postcard collection, featuring words and images from Annalemma Issue Six: Sacrifice.

Click on over to our print store where you can purchase all five of these handsome art pieces printed on recycled matte stock for $5.00 plus s&h.

Got a college student you haven’t heard from in a couple semesters?

Or perhaps a long distance significant other who swoons with every mention of your name?

Or maybe you’ve got an estranged sibling that lives in remote part of the country.

Or maybe you want to impress guests with all of the international contacts you have by displaying fake correspondences with people you just made up.

Many reasons to buy, no excuse not to.

p.s. the entire set comes free with purchase of Annalemma Issue Six: Sacrifice, while supplies last!

The following is an excerpt from the story Fight Songs by Jim Ruland, appearing in Annalemma Issue Six: Sacrifice. Image by Todd Jordan.

Last week deputies from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department escorted Staci Carson from the agency for violating a restraining order by stalking a lifeguard at the beach, but I’m the only one in the building who knows this. Staci had a secret blog. It isn’t up anymore–her hosting service deleted the file at the request of the authorities–but she archived the content and parked it on her hard drive, which became my hard drive after Staci left and I moved into her office. She documented her infatuation with the lifeguard in a file called “StatusReports2010” and I’ve been reading it nonstop. I’m pretty much in love with Staci Carson now.

I didn’t know Staci Carson very well. She traveled all the time and worked from home a lot. She was reasonably fit, reasonably personable, reasonably attractive. In short, the least likely person to get all fatal attraction over a nineteen-year-old lifeguard barely out of high school. Not that I’m judging her. I believe love is a weed that can spring up anywhere. You can rip it out of the ground, but its root structure, its essence, remains. You can’t make love go away just because you want it to.

The telephone rings and I nearly jump out of my chair. It’s my first call in my new office and the ring tone is super loud.

“Hey, sugar.”

It’s the receptionist, a woman named Gilda who wears wild wigs and headscarves, and may very well be the only person in the agency with a sense of humor, which is a problem since our biggest client is a comedy network.

“You got a call from Jessica.”

“Jessica?” Jessie is the daughter of my on-and-off girlfriend, Rocio. I have no idea why Jessie would be calling me at work.

“I’ll put her through.”

“Wait,” I say, but it’s too late. Gilda’s gone. I use my best I’m-super-busy-this-better-be-good voice: “Tom Lanier.”

“Hi, Tom.”

“Jessie. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Well. Sorta.”

“What does ‘sorta’ mean?”

“I got suspended.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“You got suspended for doing nothing?” I wince as the words tumble out of my mouth. To a fourteen-year-old, sarcasm is pretty much the same thing as being a dick.

“Hold on,” she says and another voice comes over the line. Someone from the school.

“Mr. Vargas?”

“Um, no. This is Jessie’s mother’s significant other.” It’s the first time I’ve ever used this phrase to describe myself and it feels completely asinine, but Jessie’s mother’s boyfriend sounds sleazy. It could be that I’m slightly intimidated: this woman’s got the I’m-super-busy-this-better-be-good voice down cold.

“I see. And your name is?”

“Lanier. Tom Lanier.”

“Mr. Lanier, this is Ms. Ortega, the school disciplinarian at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Your significant other’s daughter has been suspended for a dress code violation. Will you be coming to pick her up or shall I phone her mother?”

“I’ll be right there,” I say. “What’s your address?”

“You can obtain the school’s address and driving directions on our website.”

“You can’t just give it me?”

“No, I can’t just give it to you. Good day, Mr. Lanier.”

I put down the phone and grab my car keys. Love without sacrifice is but a declaration of intentions. That’s from Staci’s blog, posted a week before she was arrested. I don’t what this means, but I can feel the truth of it down to my bones.

To read the rest of this story click here to pre-order Annalemma Issue Six: Sacrifice, which ships April 12th.

Jim Ruland is the author of the short story collection Big Lonesome and the organizer of the L.A.-based reading series Vermin on the Mount. He lives in San Diego with his wife the visual artist Nuvia Crisol Guerra.

Todd Jordan is a photographer based in New York City. He has had various solo exhibitions of his work and been included in several group shows.  He has self published two books of his work and most recently released “Sleep Talking” with Decathlon Books. Todd is represented in New York by Peter Hay Halpert Fine Art.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Issue Six contributor Todd Jordan’s new photo book sitting on my desk when I came into the office this morning.

A handsome and impressive collection I’m proud to add to the shelf. We need to get on Decathlon about updating their site, but for now head on over to Dashwood to purchase. Well worth it!

In other TJ news: he also keeps a Tumblr that will steal 10 15 minutes of your day.

Did you do anything exciting this weekend?

Besides going to church?

We did.

We collected treasure the entire weekend.

Well, not the entire weekend.

It was broken up by occasional comments on a certain post.

It felt good and strange and weird and exciting.

And it gave me the feeling that this move to NY was starting to pay off a little bit.

Now if I could only convert all this attention into subscriptions.

Whatever. In a way, it’s just cool and satisfying to be connecting with some people I respect and admire.

But back to the treasures…

When you have someone special in town, everything you see becomes a treasure.

A 1970 Chevy Impala is always a treasure.

Treasure is all around you.