Car and Driver ranks as perhaps the least imaginative publication I've come across in my hitch as a magazine reviewer guy person. It showcases cars. It speaks to drivers. Those interested in the "automotive lifestyle" (driving gloves! vintage Quaker State t-shirts!) or deep ruminations on the family-appropriateness of certain models need not apply. And gol-dang gosh gol-darnit, that's the way it oughta be.

The bleached-out, bliss-inducing beach scene. The nods to "easy" style and "ultimate" coastal cabanas. The cover of the May issue of Coastal Living induces in me nothing if not the keen desire to slap its creators silly. And yet I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the pub to just about any shelter- or travel-book buff, not to mention anybody who has ever draped a sweater over his or her shoulders just so.

My first experience with Seventeen magazine was as a child of the '80s. Punk rock was in, along with acid-washed jeans, Sun-in hair color, frosted pink lipstick and blue eyeliner. Let's just say it wasn't pretty....

I've been stuck reading some awfully dull magazines recently. Today, I'm treating myself to some boobies. When one thinks boobies, one thinks Penthouse. And so it was that on a sparkling spring afternoon, I grabbed my walking stick, donned a porkpie hat, pinned a carnation to my lapel, and strolled down to the local magazinatorium to buy some pornography. Oh, the pageantry.