Rage Against the Machine Magazine

I have always been a big fan of the magazine, mostly because I cannot do the elliptical without them, but partly because they're like candy for the fluffy, superficial, lip gloss/pop culture/boy crazy part of my brain.

Other than the CTW PBS geek mags my folks got for me as a kid--I vividly remember 3-2-1 Contact being a favorite--I think that Seventeen was my first subscription, thinking that I was somehow ahead of my time for reading it at 13. After that came young women's mags like Self, Shape, and while I did indulge in Cosmo frequently, I would only read it at the doctor's office or buy the occasional issue in an airport.

Cosmo was one of the first to turn me off, and only partly because their target audience was about 3000 miles off from my single in the big city but working in Doc Martens in a non-profit warehouse and--gasp!--a virgin, so I couldn't [and more to the point, didn't so much want to] relate to the stories of $300 shoes or awkward office romances (tho I did still manage one of those, even working with the gay multitudes at an HIV/AIDS org).

But I digress.

My first big falling out with magazines came when I was about 4 months pregnant. I was coming out of denial (which not so coincidentally coincided with my popping out of my pants) and started to see less and less of me in the magazines that monthly jammed our mail slot. Cute skirt, would it still be in style when I was back to my fighting weight? Cool shoes, but holy crap, the thought of wearing heels for more than 15 minutes made me faint.

I thought the solution was to subscribe to mags that spoke to my life stage, so I promptly signed up for 9 months of Fit Pregnancy, the first issue of which showed up about three months later. Yeah, great timing, guys.

Then there was the fact that the maternity clothes and baby gear featured within did not really jive with my yard sale/thrift store shopping ethic and only served to make me both jealous and incredulous at the kind of woman that would drop a good thousand dollars on a wardrobe that they would only be able to wear for a handful of months.

Once Little Miss was born, my focus shifted to successfully getting through our day together. Unfortunately, most parenting mags cover the whole gamut of child raising and couldn't tell me why my initially great sleeper was now getting up four times a night or clue me into the reason why she was spitting up so much (answer: I was wrongfully insecure about my surgically-affected milk supply).

Which brings us to today, where I can't read anything any more (and have no idea why I have subscriptions to Radar and Nylon) because with the cancer and the chemo and the radiation and blargh. If you don't have a half page article on how I can resurrect my appetite or find the energy to do a modicum of exercise or ward off/treat various forms of unpleasantness related to this whole mess, then I have no time for you.

I can't believe just spent 20 minutes blogging about MAGAZINES. My pointlessness has officially reached a whole new level.

Happy FKNew Year, gentle readers. Anyone to actually stay up past midnight wins a prize, something sharp with small parts. I'm guessing potential choking hazards aren't so much a cause for concern in your household. ;)