Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Magazine Security

I am obsessed with magazines. My coffee table is lined with the latest issues of The New Yorker, Time Magazine, OUT, Inc., Wired, Rolling Stone, Blender, Atlantic Monthly, and a pile of other publications. All said and done, I'm a subscriber to 16 magazines, and I scour around until the mail comes each day so I can verify the arrival of each new publication.

My magazines arrive at a mean time of 3:53 p.m. on their designated days via USPS, and as soon as I grab them out of the box, my number one priority in life becomes reading the most recent issue cover to cover. I excuse the antisocial behavior that naturally ensues by claiming I'm simply attempting to "stay abreast of all the going ons in the world" or saying that reading will, "improve my writing substantially."

The aforementioned may be true, but I'll be the first to admit I have a problem. Whether I'm going to the club, the softball field, or the classroom, it's nearly impossible for me to leave the house without at least one periodical in hand. To do so gives me anxiety, as if I decided to stroll outside naked. Keeping a magazine or two on hand at all times makes me feel safe though, like a bullet proof vest or security blanket.

When I bring periodicals to social events I don't sit in front of a group of friends and casually delve into my magazines as everyone else chats. And while I used to read in the dugout between innings, I've learned that's a little eccentric in itself as well. Instead, I carry periodicals with me for that coveted moment when no one is around and I can steal in a few informative paragraphs.

Perhaps I need therapy to help me deal with the flood of media constantly invading my space and beckoning for me to read it? Or maybe one day I'll finally achieve full clarity regarding what's really going on in the world. On that day I envision myself writing like one of my idol columnists, Lauren Collins, Patricia Marx, or many other brilliant writers. Even then, you couldn't force me to cancel my subscriptions.

Before I head off to read some more of Wired, one of my musical obsessions is Bonde Do Role. Loosen those hips, strap on your dancing shoes, and give "Solta O Frango" a listen below: