Some girl sent this let­ter in to Ready­Made magazine:

“The day after my 25th birth­day I walked into Nectar’s, the local bar-slash-diner, where there is usu­ally a band and it is usu­ally shitty.  But on this night, peo­ple that I only barely knew in town-people who give me a spe­cial “I’ve got a crush on a rock star” thrill if they remem­ber my name-these peo­ple were onstage and in the audi­ence, and they were wear­ing wigs and smash­ing gui­tars and play­ing Led Zep­pelin.  And while the air was thick with Camel Lights smoked by domestic-beer-drinking-rockers, I found that I could take a full breath for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Ready­Made is like that night, like the moment Jason Coo­ley sang, “You need Cooley/Baby I’m not foolin’/I’m gonna send you/Back to Coo­ley.”  Your mag­a­zine speaks to peo­ple who live in cramped spaces they don’t own and work jobs that aren’t nec­es­sar­ily what they want to do for­ever.  Your 88 pages show that it can all be art, sub­ver­sive or appar­ent, sim­ple or complex-the whole day can be fun from start to fin­ish, even if all you do is take five min­utes to arrange a “sug­ges­tive” dis­play (using yesterday’s pro­duce) for your coworker to find the next day.”

Kelly Horan
Burling­ton, Vermont

Thanks, Kelly!