I'm Jer-Z to the core, though probably not in a way that would endear me to the folks behind the upscale New Jersey Life. They say "contemporary Mediterranean cuisine," I say "chili dog." They say "pricey houses," I say "chili dog." Et cetera. After cranking "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out" and perusing pix from last summer's Great Adventure day trip, I returned to my mag lab (a.k.a. the couch) with a renewed sense of mission.
Taking up prime real estate on the cover of In Touch Weekly, plastered right over the ''first photos of Baby Jayden!'' is its price: a very slender and alluring $1.99. Compare that to the bloated $3.49 cover price of its tabloid great aunt, Us Weekly, and in the celeb gossip world, you suddenly have a magazine's entire reason for being.
What the hell happened to Giant? Not only is it a fully different publication than it used to be, but one so wildly scattershot in its execution as to evoke pity. When we last checked in with Giant, it offered male-skewed entertainment coverage with post-fraternity bite. Some time over the last year (what, you weren't paying attention either?), it swung a U-turn and morphed into a chronicler of urban culture. Overnight, it went from being Stuff without the starlets to Complex without a clue.