Over the years, I have amassed approximately a dozen magazine subscriptions. Recently (3 years-ish), I have experienced a not so subtle shift in my relationship with these publications. You’ll have to let me know if I’m losing it.
Vogue: Get out of my mail box! I love art and think fashion is art, but the spreads are so redundant and boring.
Harper’s Bazaar: Really? If I don’t want to see Vogue copy Vogue, why would I want to watch you copy Vogue?
Good Housekeeping/Redbook/Woman’s Day/Ladies Home Journal/Better Homes & Gardens: Cram the best content from these 5 together and it wouldn’t make one issue.
Child: Learn to read, THEN you get to have a magazine.
Parents: There’s a product for that? A carefully oiled machine built for the purpose of selling product through guilt. What sort of mommy are you if you don’t buy a $30 high chair mat? Ditto “Parenting.”
Oprah: The Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda and Why Haven’t You of publications. Personal favorite: Oprah’s Favorite Things and similar articles, such as, “Summer Steals For Under $500!” Oprah has officially become The Man.
Real Simple: I could devote an entire post to this rag. Need an article on how to “repurpose” a milk jug? Bingo. Did you know that a baggie, a sack of pinto beans, colored felt, toothpicks, bread twist ties and chenille strips can be refashioned into a pin cushion that: A) can be purchased for $1.49 and B) houses a product you never use anyway? Additionally, this magazine has poor etiquette advice that will get you into big trouble. Just ask me. Really. Ask me.
Bon Apetit: I get it, you’re awesome. I aspire to deserve you. Ditto “W”, “Forbes” and “The Economist.”
Time: You used to be so great, but now you’ve dumbed it down for a mainstream, pop culture audience, (which I actually appreciated for a moment). Too many Stewie references.
Cooking Light: A truly fine magazine, but I have to break up after our 10 year courtship. You’ve become redundant, but hey, there’s only so many ingredients, right? I’d recommend this to any cook.
Rachael Ray: I thought not having to listen to her voice would satisfy my requirements for this magazine. She’s so raspy and fast, I always think she’s thisclose to an aneurysm. I don’t like the dog recipes. (See “Child” magazine comment above).
Self/Shape: I’m guilty enough, thanks.
Cosmopolitan/Lucky: If I don’t know how to perform oral sex yet, I guess I’ll never learn. 😦
The entire Martha Stewart family of publications: I’ve had plenty, thank you. I guess I’ll never make that 800 fresh cranberry wreath that has to be soaked, dismantled, rewired and sobbed over weekly. Sigh.
Allure: I’m STILL not even sure what this one’s about.
Food Network: This is a sort of guilty pleasure. I don’t care for Guy Fieri or his twin sister, Anne Burrell. I think Paula Deen is, hell, I don’t know what I think she is, but I don’t like it. Too many products and shows for sale, peppered (like how I did that?) with a handful of good recipes each month.
Star: I inherited this filthy trash from my mother, who was careful to never let me know that she had pre-paid a FIVE year subscription. (!!!!) I’ve been receiving these since her death and it’s a little fun, a lot like she used to surreptitiously slide me a folded over “National Enquirer” like it was the filthiest porn imaginable. We both pored over these nasty treats like it was criminal. So, out of reverence to her (side eye), I’ve read each one. The first year I spent about 45 minutes on each issue, and now I’ve gotten it down to a scientific 6. I’ve finally gotten the notice it’s expiring. I’m ok with that.
So, all of these magazines are going out of my life. Less paper, less clutter, less trash, more books. 🙂
Those who know me know that I’ve fought a big, stupid, useless, futile battle with my weight for oh, about 30 years. It has been unfun. I have tried everything. All the stupid stuff people do: pills, diets, fasts, one ingredient diets (cabbage), two ingredient diets (tuna and eggs. Bleah.), Food category diets (Atkins), weighing, measuring, skipping meals and compulsive exercising. The latter experiment went hard and heavy for a couple days, then I strained a muscle and did a few batches of fresh soudough bread to aid my recovery. I’ve been pretty mental. I even tried being bulimic once (literally: once), but I found that throwing up made me hungry again. Weird.
Finally, in 1997, I discovered that 12 step was the solution to whatever lack I always tended to try and fill with food. For the uninitiated, you can run pretty much anything through the steps and they work. If I can’t lay off comic books, for instance, I realize that I’m powerless over comics, God’s not, I’ll let God deal with comics. I’ll be honest about myself and tell someone else, admit when I’m at fault and spread the word a little. It’s simple. I’ve resisted this “cure” for years, but I know it is the only thing for me. When I do it, it works great. I’m so happy that I’m doing it today and have strung together 39 days of clean food.
For a couple of years, I’ve been sort of pressed to have The Surgery. It’s been suggested by my closest loved ones, my best friend on earth and even a therapist. Everybody knows that my husband had it and it was a fantastic thing for him, but it isn’t for me. I know that for me to enjoy a real lasting peace with food, I’ve got to go through the really hard work. I think I’d eat through a gastric bypass, frankly. Eric hasn’t and I’m so happy for the results his choice has brought our whole family. We’re both cool with our difference on this.
Four years ago, I bought a lifetime membership to 24 Hour Fitness, because I just KNEW that if I did that, I’d feel so much guilt and pressure and shame that I’d haul it in there. (All great life changes begin with those three key components right? Guilt? Check. Pressure? Check. Shame? Check.) I drove around the parking lot many times, but couldn’t do it. I don’t know what really changed for me. Was it getting my food clean? Working a program again? I’m not sure, but I was able to go. Mortified, intimidated, afraid. You know what was there? My joy. My big, gay, goofball joy. I can’t stay out of there. I’ve never had so much fun as I’ve had since I began this journey in earnest, and I feel completely blessed that it is happening for me. And I’m thrilled to get to share it with you, the one person who made it to the end of my page. 😉
This started as a joke but has swollen into an uneasy, overweight database of oddfellows. These are my Gimmies. The Gimme List includes anyone you might enjoy a romp with under perfect circumstances. My standard has dropped to pretty much anyone I’d like to have come over and prepare a nice meal and do the washing up. Here are the victims, (not including my number one Gimme, my perfect husband, Eric).
The Trinity of Gimme Perfection:
Dean Winters
Michael Pitt
Mike Rowe
Second Tier, But Still Pretty Good Gimmies:
Josh Homme
Adam Levine
Boston Rob
Had A Hot Moment, But It’s Over Gimmies:
Mickey Rourke
James Spader
Ethan Hawke
Eric Stoltz
John Malkovich
Greg Kinnear
Craig Kilbourne
Gordon Ramsey
A Gimme In My Own Twisted Mind:
Kenny Rogers (the old face)
Woody Allen
Michael Palin
Anthony Michael Hall
Funny Is Hot Gimmies:
Steve Martin
Paul Rudd
Ben Stiller
Jason Sudeikis
Zach Galafianakis
Sometimes What Is Hot Is Also Embarrassing:
Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson
Bam Margera
Ryan Dunn (and kinda the whole cast of Jackass)
Characters Are Sometimes Hot:
Gopher from The Love Boat
Ducky from Pretty In Pink
Jake from Sixteen Candles
Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything
Artistic Is Always Hot, Even After Death Gimmies:
Ernest Hemingway
Pablo Picasso
Auguste Rodin
Gangster Gimmies:
Ray Liotta in Goodfellas
Robert deNiro in The Godfather II
Al Pacino in The Godfather
Warren Beatty in Bugsy
James Gandolfini in The Sopranos
True Blood Gimmies:
Eric
Alcide
Hoyt
Jessica
Pam
Historical Gimmies, Because Bravery & Patriotism Is Sexy:
Sam Houston
Stephen F. Austin
Thomas Jefferson
British Gimmies:
Colin Firth
Eddie Izzard
Prince Harry
What’s Black & White & Dead All Over? These Silver Screen Gimmies:
Joseph Cotten
William Holden
Cary Grant
Clark Gable
The 70’s Were Hot Gimmies:
John Ritter
Don Meredith
Bo & Luke Duke
Manly from Little House
Too Obvious But I Can’t Help It Gimmies:
Johnny Depp
Leonardo DiCaprio
Daniel Craig
Matt Dillon
Mother’s Day is less than 4 hours away. If you don’t have any children and want to get in on this sweet action, you’d better hurry! 4 hours is not a lot of time to abduct a pregnant woman, extract her fetus and call all your friends and family!
In the horribly depressing book, “When Rabbit Howls”, multiple personality patient Truddi Chase convinces her psychiatrist to allow her to keep all 80+ personalities separate by wearing a t-shirt printed with the above sentiment. He lets her, and she ran around for the rest of her life being whoever she was at the moment. You never knew who you were getting with Truddi. People who do that without a mental illness are called two-faced. Not pretty.
I’ve worn lots of different faces, but mainly just two. I really am an uplifting and outgoing person who loves to encourage others and be a great friend. My other side is wicked and bawdy. I like to tell yucky jokes and say nasty things. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep my Pollyanna face well clear of my Bluto face.
I’ve heard lots of people (especially women), say that turning 40 gave them a major feeling of freedom, a willingness to extend a slight eff you to the propriety that had restrained them. I’m there. I’ve decided to smash it all togather into one place, be one person all day long, for every person I encounter. I used to have a secret blog that I wrote anonymously and I’ve dropped it, because that choice is inauthentic (barf). So, this blog is somewhat about looking for acceptance for my whole person. Let me know what you think. Surely, I’m not the only person who has lived this way.
Having an image to serve as the face of terrorism was convenient and focused us on a specific evil. Now that he’s gone, we have some redefining to do. This is good for us, because we are reminded that the people that would harm us are faceless masses, not just that “guy.”
His, um, eradication, is bringing up some surprising issues. What should be a really unifying development has actually been deeply polarizing. Who would’ve thought a common, universal American objective could have massive bipartisan repercussions? There are the gleeful and the contemplative. There are those who use this somehow as a platform to despise the president further. Well, I’ve said too much. I’m getting close to political tirade, and I promise to (almost) always avoid that. Back to my title. There are a few things I’ll miss about Osama. They are:
1. Braiding each other’s hair.
2. Watching Seinfeld reruns together.
3. Canning fig preserves together.
4. Jazzercise.
5. Clothes shopping. I could never get him out of his comfort zone. Robes, robes, robes.
Typical American infidel chatter. 🙂 God bless Osama’s brittle, infinitely cranky (understatement of the year), gloomy soulless soul. The world is a better place today. Now can’t we all just get along??
Getting up at 3 in the morning is educational in itself, but this wedding business adds another dimension to it. I decided to watch this event for a few simple reasons. I’m not an Anglophile, necessarily. I am a complete news head and have needed a good brain scrubbing (the filling of the brain with happiness, flowers and butterflies) for awhile. There is a short list of events that people my age (40) can recall in the larger context of: I was doing “x” when “x” happened. You will almost certainly recall where you were and what you were doing when you discovered: The Branch Davidians compound had burned down. The Oklahoma City Federal offices had been bombed. The World Trade Center had been attacked. The assault on Columbine. The death of Princess Diana. O.J. Simpson (which time? He has a complete subset of notorious moments: the slow chase, the glove, the verdict, the civil award, the robbery (!) and subsequent incarceration).
Absorbing all these impacts does a body BAD. I’m no royal watcher, but I relished the idea of having an event that I would always remember, that was newsworthy and historical, and was somehow not horrible. It was good. It hit the spot. It was life-affirming and positive and emotional, and best of all, had a zero body count.
tincansoup 