Magazines . . .

As I sit here and type there is a stack of 17 unopened/cracked/read magazines sitting next to me on the floor. They are all my magazines. 

They range in subject from cooking, to fitness, to Jewish fare, to brain fun, to home care, to lifestyle (Yes. Fine. I read Martha Stewart Living. Pound sand). 

I want you to know - I NEED you to believe that I LOVE magazines. Always have, probably always will. As a kid I would go to Mayer's in Ithaca and smell all the great pipe tobacco and look at the hundreds and hundreds of magazines and newspapers and other "periodicals" (quarterly journals and scientific research, etc.) and just enjoy all the words and pictures and cologne samples (yep - I was THAT guy).

I always loved that magazines were full of a lot of little things (I feel like I have a slight touch of ADD) that I could read and learn something from (or just delight in) and then I could move on. Fast forward 10 (or however many) years and this "thing" called the Internet came along. The early days of the Internet seemed great - remember zines/eZines? And then things like e-mail lists came along (seriously - there is a dude named Kwame that went to Syracuse with my friend Josh that used to delight me to the CORE once a week). Then that gave way to web portals that repurposed news and then the blog movement came along and then social media and, by now, we just communicate with photos and/or thoughts composed of 140 characters or less. 

So here I sit - with 17 beloved magazines just feet from me. I'm staring at a screen and typing on a keyboard and Special Lady Friend is next to me doing the same (she is working, I am not). I'm not learning anything. I'm not getting any more bright. I'm not getting any more engaging or endearing. I'm not at all better off for it.

Okay. I'm going to go now. There is a terrific article I need to read . . .