Friday, February 24, 2006

Magazines Are Stupid

After leaving the Journal, I briefly considered trying to shift to a career in magazines. I do enjoy writing for magazines, and seeing my work appear in magazines. I enjoy reading magazines, good ones like the New Yorker and Harper's and bad ones like Shape or Fitness when I'm at the gym (anorexia magazines). Some magazines, like Climbing, are important to me because they cover a niche well that isn't covered online. Some magazines, like Entertainment Weekly, are good for reading in the bathroom or when you're on line somewhere.

But the longer that I work in this office, which we share with the women's cheapo monthly All You! (shudder, the name gives me goose bumps), the more glad I am that I don't actually have to work at a magazine, especially a women's magazine. I mean, I'd give away both of my own ovaries for a chance to work at the New Yorker, so please realize I'm talking about the mediocre newsstand schlock when I say the following. First, almost all magazines are irrelevant. Anything I see in a magazines I've already seen 20 times before in mediums that have a quicker turnaround (blogs, newspapers, TV). I guess if you live in Nome, Alaska, maybe you'll find something new in a magazine, but otherwise, nope.

Second, I just wouldn't want to have to do the stupid shit you apparently have to do to put out a magazine.

Case in point. I just walked into the kitchen in my office, and two girls from All You! were standing in there with two cases of delicious, bubbly Boylan orange soda. And what were they doing with it? Dumping it all down the drain.

The girls looked a little sad as they did this (probably because, as employees of a women's magazine, they are caned if their pants size breaches a 2, and likely neither had held lip to soda bottle in years), and I stood by trying to figure out what was going on.

Finally, I said, "Um, are those all bad or something?"

And they said, "No, we just need the caps for a photo shoot, but we couldn't get just the caps."

And I said, "Oh. Um. Can I have one of the bottles then?"

They handed over the nice cold sweet orange treat and I skipped back to my office, glad that I don't have to dump out perfectly good soda that I can't drink anyway in order to make a living at some stupid women's magazine.


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