Entering its second month, my relationship with the big-ass LCD high-definition TV that lords over my living space remains as romantic as ever. Still, I might buy it a nice bauble to atone for my flirtation with a young, lithe plasma set at last month's Consumer Electronics Show. Hence my purchase of Home Theater, a magazine that purports to unlock the potential of all such systems.
It's been a hard week for Martha Stewart, busily feuding with Donald Trump over "The Apprentice." Nothing like being called a "moron" in public to make you seek a little spiritual counsel, so here's a sample of what Martha would find if she went to her magazine Body and Soul for advice: "Give of yourself from a place of genuine love, rather than obligation." Um, maybe not the best way to handle a power-hungry billionaire.
In the March issue of Redbook, Sheryl Crow devotes about half of her interview to rhapsodizing about fiance Lance Armstrong, with whom she no longer shares a mattress. Elsewhere, when asked what makes him feel sexy, Bon Jovi guitarist Richie Sambora responds, "Seeing my wife, Heather Locklear, in a G-string." Locklear's divorce petition, of course, has since found its way into the California legal system. The lesson, as always: long lead times can be a bitch.
In the definitive words of Tom Ford, ''Three girls in a bed is a bed full of girls. Two girls in a bed are lesbians.'' Thus, ostensibly to save Vanity Fair readers the shock and horror, not to mention the sheer indignity, of seeing lesbians on the cover of the VF Hollywood issue, (once Rachel McAdams, who remains nameless, refused to pose nude) Ford selflessly flung himself into the picture.
I never thought I'd be reduced to mentioning the word "frisky" in any discussion of National Geographic. And yet here I am, wondering what motivated the sexy-as-sediment title to plop a blurry seduction shot on the cover of its February issue, right below a "Wild in California" corner-page banner.
The selection of teen magazines has changed since I was that age: there's ELLEgirl, teenVOGUE, COSMOgirl. I was half-expecting to see publications called Edge of Seventeen and Hand Mixer (a prepubescent version of Blender, natch) but those were merely figments of my imagination.
Like Jessica Simpson picking up a philosophy textbook by mistake: That's the way I felt when I, the occasional yoga-doer, first checked out Tricycle: The Buddhist Review. I just wasn't expecting so much, well, intellectual content from a magazine placed on the "Healthy Living" shelf at Barnes and Noble, next to pubs whose cover lines say things like "ABSolutely Best Abs Exercises!"
I write for and about magazines for a living. Like I'm going to pass up the chance to jibber-jabber about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.
Some months ago, I received a press release touting gaming publications. Using some kind of convoluted statistical barometer it claimed that the gaming-mag category boasts more readers and more desirable demographics than any other. An exhaustive three-minute Google session failed to locate the release, meaning that I likely hallucinated it. Nonetheless, the misremembered memory prompted me to mosey on down to the local magazine emporium and pluck Play off the rack.
Martha, Oprah, watch your backs. With her four Food Network shows and a passel of best-selling cookbooks, the annoyingly perky Rachael Ray has become the newest lifestyle goddess/TV It Girl. Then there's Every Day With Rachael Ray, launched with the October/November issue.