
what is it about a stack of magazines that brings me to my giddy little knees?
buying a book is a wonderfully deep, all-consuming process for me, something i do based on recommendation or research, with intentions of learning or bending my mind in a new direction. but the impulse purchase of a magazine delivers a zing of self-indulgence and complete slackerdom that makes me feel like i'm really getting away with something. i have all sorts of odd little rituals with magazines. as lovely as that top copy looks at the bookstore, for example, i never buy that one; i dig at least halfway down into the stack and get a fresh issue. such a transient, throwaway thrill. i dig through mags in the evening, usually with a glass of wine in hand; reading them during the day feels too frivolous. i read each issue from back to front, then front to back, unless i'm not in the mood for that, in which case i skip around, read what i want and cast away the rest. even when a certain issue sucks, i go back through page by page and make myself milk that magazine for at least ten ideas, which i may or may not use. then i attack it with a pair of scissors and do silly things with it. when traveling, i buy a wad of magazines in one airport, deposit them in another, and then wonder who will take off with them and where they will go next. and foreign magazines! different languages! stop me!
if you're game for this, tell me something of your periodical habits. read them? don't read them? what's your favorite, or even better, do you have a incongruous mix of magazines in your household, like people and the economist? are you a subscription kind of person or a buyer on whim at the checkout counter? if you read yours with scissors, what do you make out of them? in return, i'll draw two names at random from this post on monday morning, and each will get one of my drunken tiles. happy weekend and good luck!





































