Book publishers say women do most of the heavy-lifting reading in America these days, yet in recent years the men's magazine category seems to be burgeoning. Men's Journal is one of the very best of the breed, thanks to a focus on um, you know... words. Not just pictures.

Traditional wisdom holds that if you want to know who is reading a magazine, check the ads. In the case of Singular, a new lifestyle pub geared to affluent singles, it must be wanton millionaires. Who else would spend $9,000 on a 24K-gold-plated Macbook Air or $64,950 for a Vividus bed by Hastens? In my experience, it's not the mattress that defines a quality bedroom experience. As for the laptop, a sapphire-encrusted Apple logo is the computer equivalent of a jewelry-studded dog collar. Assuming she can type, is Paris Hilton the target buyer?

A copy of Swindle had been placed in our room at a boutique hotel in Washington. OK, I thought as I began thumbing through the Los Angeles-based quarterly, it's one of those bicoastal magazines that doesn't show up in my native Flyover Country (Detroit). Turns out it can be had at Borders or Barnes & Noble; I might have missed it because it could show up on five different racks in five different stores: art, politics, popular culture, fashion, journalism. Because it came at me from so many angles, I thumbed through it at random and the first few articles …

The folks who stock magazine racks aren't quite sure where to stash Inked. In recent weeks I've seen the tattoo mag variously displayed under categories as disparate as Men and Art and Lifestyles. Yet the cover tagline says it all: CULTURE. STYLE. ART. Some of us can remember when nothing was hip about ink on epidermis, since it conjured up the creepy wiry guy perched on a stool near the men's room, drinking his supper and tugging on an unfiltered Chesterfield, his skinny left bicep adorned with the USS Something-or-Other of Korean War vintage while his right forearm displayed the …

I am neither fit nor pregnant. But I am currently in negotiations with Crunch for a gym membership. My requirements: looking toned and sculpted without breaking a sweat. So far, the beefy rep, whose forearm is bigger than my head, is noncommittal. He, like our newly elected president, must manage expectations. Pregnant women have expectations, too. Usually, they revolve around future dreams and desires. Yes, it's nice to have a doctor in the family. But first, you have to ensure a healthy baby. And that's where FitPregnancy comes in.

Magazines weren't polybagged back when Kevin Brady and I were kicked out of Shore's Candy Store in fifth grade for glancing and giggling at Miss April 1972 in Playboy. But the hardest part of reading that magazine remains the buying process. At my local Barnes & Noble, I slipped it under a copy of Mother Jones, and the clerk's smile quickly faded when he found the poly-bagged November issue underneath. His odd look implied he was wondering if my shopping spree included Aqua Velva, whiskey sour mix, and a new needle for my hi-fi.

Want to strut your intellectual mettle? Check out The Atlantic. Get ready to get down with Michelle Rhee, D.C. school chancellor, Bill Maher's atheism and China's image problems. The 151-year-old magazine addresses critical issues and champions, according to editor James Benet, "independent thinking." Which means it's guaranteed to send "Fox & Friends" into apoplexy.

It's been four years since Plenty launched. The magazine has come a long way from the somewhat technically written tome with the appearance of a dull airline catalog, as it was described in an earlier review. It has evolved into a colorful, cleverly written and illustrated, yet still intelligent read.

By the time you read this, we'll have a new president. Thankfully. I couldn't take the carpet-bombing election coverage anymore. In short, we all need a visual break. Here's one: Southwest Art. And this is some region to showcase: the deserts, the buttes, the forests. When the aliens landed, they could have popped into Times Square or parked on Boston Common. Instead, they chose Roswell, New Mexico? Just coincidence? I bet Southwest Art doesn't think so.

Few magazine markets put the consumption in "consumer" quite like the automotive enthusiast field. So now that our long-term love of the internal-combustion engine is destroying our economy, our foreign policy, and even our planet, how does a car mag celebrate the machines that threaten to strangle us all?