I realized the other day that I have more magazine subscriptions than a small library. I’ve given up counting them, but I’m sure the number is well above twelve. Some are monthly, some are weekly, some are “whenever we damned well feel like sending you an issue, nevermind that you paid for twelve, we changed it to ten and extended your subscription and you’ll get something eventually.” What’s great is that I haven’t paid for most of these. We had airline miles that were about to expire on two different accounts and each one got me 3-5 subscriptions. I think there’s another account about to lose more miles and I’ll be able to get more, if I can find anything worth reading.
One of the subscriptions I got with miles was This Old House. Yes, of long-time PBS fame. I grew up with that show, and always thought it was an old fogey series. Haven’t seen it in years, but the magazine…ahhhh…the magazine gives me such house lust that I damned near need to get a room, light some candles, and pour the wine. I can tell it’s a great read for me because (oh man, this is going to make you all think I have truly cracked and gone over the edge) I can feel it in my mouth. Like chewing on a great steak. And you know what it is? The kitchens. The kitchens with the farmer sink and solid surface countertops and gas range and enough storage to hide the bodies of people who piss me off. Before and after photos. DIY plans. Product reviews. Craftsman style homes with the fine detail my seven year old home lacks. It’s like HGTV and DIY Network wrapped up in a big bow and dropped in my lap.
The only thing that bothers me about all my subscriptions is the impermanence of them. Read, rip out what to investigate/scan into Evernote, recycle. It’s like paying to fill the recycle bin, and sometimes that drives me insane.
But I continue to enjoy my weekly/monthly/whenever we feel like it magazines. They are my way to wind down my brain at night and have sweet dreams.
Like those of farmer sinks and cabinets and fine details.