When ESPN The Magazine debuted several years ago, it contained enough loud colors and graphic whirligigs to induce seizures in small children. Perusing it made my eyes twitch and my nasal passages constrict; I'd sooner have devoted my leisure minutes to reading product manuals. But as I've paged through recent issues, I've had to backtrack on this opinion.

I consider myself fairly knowledgeable when it comes to Major League Baseball: I've read the book Moneyball, I own "Field of Dreams," I'm in a fantasy baseball league. Most importantly, I'm a long-suffering Mets fan. This is our year. Really.

It's easy to understand why Country Living kicks the dickens out of its similarly knickknack-obsessed competition... in a WWE steel cage accessorized with kneehole desks and tole trays, no doubt. Simply put, the magazine is a marvel of organization, with each section ("Out & About," "Home Almanac") remaining almost militantly on point.

Confession: I am not a regular Elle reader. In fact, it's entirely possible that I am not the magazine's target reader--a glamorous, trend-setting, fashion-forward, globe-trotting, accessorizing stylemonger who doesn't merely keep up with fashion, but pushes its boundaries.

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.