Do you have any idea how many knitting magazines are out there? Passing the vast knitting-mag section of the local Barnes & Noble last week, I realized that I'd neglected this sleeping giant of a genre and thus the handful -- nay, tens! -- of mass-market advertisers who would potentially advertise in such titles. So I downshifted into moron mode and grabbed the mag with the hottest chick on the cover. Alas, covers can be a wee bit deceptive: the fall issue of knit simple emphasizes sweaters over sweater meat. Even worse, it does so in a manner so precious …

Many women's magazines exist in a far-off galaxy where the goal of existence is twofold: achieve the perfect blonde highlights and wear size 4. And never, ever, age. These pubs, which apparently target zygotes, are obsessed with weight, men and sex. Their reality, like Congress', is skewed. So it was refreshing to discover Hallmark's emphasis on every-day life.

To the best of my knowledge, I have never pimped out one of my possessions. I have not pimped my ride, my kicks (that's young-person slang for "sneakers," from what I gather), my blender, my shower stall or my sisters. I like things exactly as they are. Homogeneity rules. That said, I certainly appreciate what the folks at Rides are up to, especially since the mag preaches the enthusiast gospel more passionately than just about any title I've seen.

I asked for questions. Y'all responded in kind. Without further ado, then, here's the first edition of Uncle Larry's Magazine Rack Funtime Family Mailbag. Some are reproduced verbatim, some are a composite of 20 variations on the same query. Now, leave me alone.

I have no idea why the publishers decided to compromise the stalwart Muscle & Fitness brand by slapping it onto a generic women's magazine. And it doesn't help that Muscle & Fitness Hers gives me so little to work with. In every way, from its hyperactive design and layout to its by-the-numbers gal-mag staples, the title reeks of desperation from each of its well-oiled pores.

In my years on this planet, I rode a motorcycle precisely once. It was in Boston during the fateful spring of 1995, when a pal and I needed to get to Fenway for the annual 11 a.m. Patriot's Day game. It took goggles, elbow, knee and wrist pads, an athletic cup, several helmets, and a fistful of mild sedatives before I'd get on the bike. I recall crying a lot.

Recently, at a screening of the Andy Warhol documentary that ran last week on PBS, Bob Colacello, Andy's sidekick (and editor of Interview magazine back in the day) was asked ''Who is the Edie Sedgwick of our time?'' ''Paris Hilton! Andy would have loved her,'' he told a reporter from New York magazine. As it turns out, Andy was so preternaturally ahead of his time in his visceral understanding of celebrity culture that even his prediction, (''in the future, everyone will be world famous for 15 minutes'') has had its 15 minutes.

Travel Girl treats the word "girl" liberally. Cher, Diane von Furstenberg and Paula Zahn have all graced its cover. And whatever their individual achievements, no one could confuse them with adolescents. Which brings us to Travel Girl's larger point: Girl is relative. To its publisher, Renee Werbin, it taps "the young at heart." And, while it may sound a bit corny, it works.

As has been stated roughly 3746364536374 times before in this space, I'm a fan of enthusiast titles. In this not-nice magazine climate -- think the Bataan Death March, but with more suggestions for the "perfect weekend" -- enthusiast mags alone inspire the loyalty that used to be enjoyed by both generalist and niche titles.Petersen's Hunting gets this. If you like to hang out in the woods and neutralize Little Rabbit Foo Foo before he scoops up all the field mice and bops them on the head, you will like this magazine very, very much. If you're less ammunitionally inclined, you …

Cracked now finds itself reinvented as "the comedy magazine," which strikes me as a slight perversion of the original brand. Pop-culture-related humor isn't exactly hard to come by nowadays, so the new Cracked totters on the cusp of irrelevance from the get-go. In theory, anyway. In execution, most of the September/October issue made me laugh, early and often.