I am a magazine junkie. I subscribe to Us Weekly, Allure and Maxim. I make biweekly treks to Schuler Books and peruse the shelves, fiending for a fix of Cosmopolitan, Glamour and Rolling Stone. It’s a mild illness, really, and I never expect it to alter my view of society or create an astounding epiphany in me.
Recently, however, sandwiched between articles with such educational titles as “How to snare a sugar-daddy” and “Eat cardboard
