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08.29.2003 - 3:11 p.m.
Friday
I was dawdling over my coffee this morning, and having completed my daily ritual with the paper (front section first, then local news to indulge a slightly creepy obsession with the obituaries, a brief glance at the business section, then ending with the highly unsatisfying comics pages), I flipped through a nearby Cosmopolitan.
Not a good way to start out the day. Man, what a fetid piece of shit that magazine is. Why, why, why do I keep buying it?
See, I've got a little problem with magazines. I cannot resist them. My subscription list includes In Style, Jane, Gourmet, and Sunset. At the grocery store checkout line I buy Us, Cosmopolitan, and Glamour.
It is a fact that while JB's name is printed on the discreet little Playboy window, I am the one who reads it cover to cover. (Oh, he claims to read it. Please. Lingering over the middle section for 15 minutes is not reading.)
Us is the sluttiest magazine in the entire world. You know, the weekly rag with all the celebrity crap? Oh my god, I love it so very very much. Us is sheer brain candy laid out in a style that just barely transcends 'tabloid' by evoking Tiger Beat-type unadulterated idol worship. It's like that one section of People that's sleazily compelling because it has the paparazzi stuff, without the extra fifty pages of articles about some lady in Minnesota who knits booties for injured cats.
For sheer reading enjoyment, Gourmet wins hands down. No, I have never prepared a single recipe from Gourmet. (It would be too fucking hard, that's why.) But poring over the articles and photographs is almost as pleasing as consuming the food being described.
Jane and Glamour are both slightly embarrassing depravities, but Cosmopolitan is unreal. You've got the fake male reader submissions on 1) How I Knew She Was The One, 2) The Sweetest Thing She Ever Did, 3) The Way She Won My Heart, 4) How My Girl Friend Became My Girlfriend, etc, etc, etc. The massive sex foldout detailing various "exotic" positions you can perform for your lover! (Extra points if you learn how to stimulate his prostate, girls. Sex isn't about you.) The obligatory shoddy reporting job about a Sensitive Female Issue, such as prison guard rape. The Rules-esque 'how to' guide for understanding men and their mystifying ways. And the helpful diet advice for the woman who's proud to flaunt her disorder.
Bleah. And yet I keep buying the damn thing. Here's the deal, though - I think this month's issue finally has me cured. Not only did Cosmo actually recommend this book, but the accompanying blurb went something like "Be amazed by Karyn's plucky reserve!"
:::
In other non-magazine related news, I have been busy busy busy at Workplace this week. We're doing planning for the next versions of our products, which goes like this:
1. We have eighty billion million meetings deciding what features should go in the products.
2. Consulting a horoscope, a Magic 8-ball, and a farmer's almanac, we determine ship dates for the products.
3. The engineers scuttle off to assign estimates to the features.
4. We then have a new round of meetings where we look at the total estimates, scream in horror because they encompass like 14 years of work, then maniacally slash features in order to make the ship dates.
I'm so happy that it's finally Friday and that a three day weekend looms ahead. Unfortunately, our plans mainly consist of playing host to some visiting friends who are bringing along not one, but TWO dogs. I'm picturing a sort of Dog stampede, with trampled furniture and puddles of drool everywhere.
Have a good (and hopefully drool-free) holiday!
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11
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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