Rant: We just got seriously “real” (a.k.a. an offically recognized member of a global alt-weekly network)

Altweeklies
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We despise self-important or press release nonsense. But this is a big day for us and we’re damned proud to announce it.

Icepeople, after more than six years, now has official cred as an affiliate member of The Associatiation of Alternative Newsweekies, which in practical terms means the stuff we spew will be out there in the global community of folks reading things like the Village Voice and dozens of other publications. The AAN board cast their votes during the association’s annual meeting during the past weekend and Icepeople was one of four publications voted in.

“The committee is in love with your paper,” a board member wrote in an e-mail this week. “The tone is fabulous and the humor is great.”

This doesn’t change many things, including the pathetic hope folks will advertise and/or donate to keep us financially alive. But it is a landmark moment for us as a so-called (and now apparently real) newspaper, so forgive us for a moment while we savor and indulge.

Ultimately, we hope to provide other alt-weeklies with stuff they care about (such as local residents on quests here) while providing our unique take about Svalbard in our unique way not seen by the MSM (mainstream media, to quote some of our political nemses).

BTW, this is being written after 1 a.m. by our derranged editor after a celebratory glass of wine, which is enough for his intolerant system to make him falling-down drunk. So, please, fellow apartmentmates of Gamle Sykehuset, don’t set the place on fire tonight. Our boss will never make it our alive.

 

 

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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