The photo has absolutely no relevance to this post, it is for my Northern friends, who are snow-bound.
The post is a re-post in response to Side View’s weekend theme, because I still buy about 7 magazines a month.
MAGAZINES: THE POTTERY CARROT AND THE PENIS-VASE
I’ve given up on ever having my home featured in H&L, G&H etc. as I just don’t have the heart to hide all the gifts made for me by The Child over the years. Her foray into pottery (mercifully short-lived) yielded an astonishing number of gifts and I had to be extremely careful when giving thanks. “What a beautiful carrot!” brought the indignant response “It’s a vase, Mom!” So, in all, I wasn’t achieving the minimalist, monochrome mansion I’d long dreamed of.
The upshot of all this is, of course, that I was able to eliminate one magazine genre from my guilty habit. When New Year loomed, I gave my addiction some thought: I was buying upwards of 15 magazines regularly. As I’d always made easily attainable resolutions: one year I resolved to not eat fish eyes, ever (easily done), it now came to me that I would buy ONLY ONE magazine A MONTH!
The decision alone made me feel virtuous; both ecologically (save a tree) and economically (more money for Merlot). But how to choose? Décor was already out (vases, birds, dogs, ET, see above). I can cook as well as I’m ever going to, besides, there’s my new online friend, Giggling Gourmet, if I get stuck; so that crossed the Foodies off the list. The Child was born delinquent, so the Parenting Mags hadn’t worked for me anyway. Cape Town steals whatever time I have to break away and I don’t camp (unless it’s with My Moffies*, but then we CAMP!) so there was no need for Travel. My dress-sense is abysmal and I’d long-ago resigned myself to being considered ‘quirky’, so it was farewell to the longtime companions, Fair Lady and Femina. (I shall miss Marianne Thamm). Sex was a distant memory, so that took care of COSMO.
What I wanted was a ‘keeper’. Good journalism and slick production, something that lasted a while and that I could return to for reference. I also wanted to be taken out of my immediate world, so there had to be a good chunk of glamour. With the looming extinction of print already on the horizon, I wanted a souvenir for the child: a chunky stack of history that I would keep at the beach house for rainy days and nostalgia.
It’s bloody chilly here today, I’m off to the fireside with Vanity Fair.
I know it’s unpatriotic that I chose a foreign mag, but the Merlot is – and always will be – from Stellenbosch.
*Moffies is a local slang term for homosexuals. It is derogatory, unless one is a fag hag,. Fag hags may use the term freely.
©Cindy Taylor 2008