Who cares what other people think?

Apparently, we do. Chris's favorite uncle gets us a magazine subscription every year for Christmas. This started maybe 5 or 6 years ago, with a subscription to Rolling Stone, a magazine I thought was really cool when I was 14. I know, I missed the magazine's heyday by a decade or so, but my girlish tastes were somewhat suspect. As I recall, at 12 I was way into Seventeen.

But back to Rolling Stone: it was never a subscription we'd asked for, and not one we particularly wanted. Sure, it allowed us to feel superior as we scoffed at Christina Aguilera's outfit or mocked the pouty little boys of Good Charlotte posing on the cover. Still, I felt some embarrassment every time the magazine showed up in our mailbox. We let this go on for a couple of years before telling Uncle thanks, but we'd prefer something else. Oops, too late, he'd already renewed. Our timing was off the next year as well. Then we made it in time, but couldn't decide what to get instead. We wanted something we'd actually enjoy reading, but didn't want to financially tax the Uncle. The latter requirement is the hard part, as there are few magazines as cheap as RS. (RS practically pays you to get a subscription. They must be raking it in on those full-page ads for Pontiac and Tommy Hilfiger.)

Plus, we already get a bunch of magazines - The New Yorker, Cook's Illustrated, Sunset, Gourmet, Living. Yes, Martha Stewart's Living - yes, it is lifestyle porn, what of it? You enjoy your pornography, I'll enjoy mine. I'm a sucker for the production values and slick photos of leaded glass windows. Ok, and the projects. You just tell me you didn't enjoy learning how to make a silk purse from a sow's ear. Plus, the subscription is another ongoing gift, as are the NYer, Sunset, and Gourmet. (I used to subscribe to the more diy Ready Made too, but then we moved and I let it lapse . . .)

Finally this year we managed to get to Uncle in time, and ask for a different subscription. We ended up having a big talk about it, because he kept suggesting that we get Esquire. Speaking of lifestyle porn . . . unfortunately, not my lifestyle. (nor Chris's, as it turns out.) Why would we need a subscription to a magazine that tries to pass off ads for $4,000 watches as content? But Uncle was adamant. So to head off the full year (and who knows, multi-year) subscription, Chris signed up to get a trial copy. It was as expected - glossy photos of the hot new model/actress on the scene, ten page spreads on men's clothes that Chris would never buy, hard hitting articles on why Dick Cheney is a jerk. (Ok, so I am happy to see the Dick-is-a-dick articles, but I can get those anywhere.)

The magazine is now in our bathroom, where all good trash reading ends up. But this is the bathroom Ada's nanny Juniper uses when she's here. Juniper is a Portland hippy, child of even bigger hippies, and excellently feminist and ecologically minded to boot. Yesterday evening after Juniper had gone home, Chris started to worry about the Esquire in the bathroom. He's sure that she sees this magazine and has formed a view of Chris that doesn't match with the real man. So far I have been too embarrassed to mention it to her at all.

Oh, and the full-year subscription we are getting from Uncle this year is Harper's, which is great. Or, it would be, if we ever read more than just the index. So I feel guilty, knowing good reading is left unread month after month. But when did I think I'd get to it? Did I mention I'm also trying to get through all those other magazines, plus write here occasionally, hold down a part-time job, and oh yeah, parent my child? Something's got to give, I know. Just don't make me give up my Living.