With all of my anti-consumerism/big business sentiments, you’d think it would be outside my repartee to be a magazine junkie.  Well, here’s news: I am one of the biggest and most addicted.  To my credit, I typically choose ones that offer at least 25 % civility.  The good stuff.  The high grade, glossy elitist mojo.  But, as any junkie revealed when in need of a fix, I’ll go for whatever fills the void: science, sociology, animal fancies, fashion or tabloid.  The latter of which causes a sad mixture of perplexity and sympathy, anger and laughter.  But nonetheless, when I’m jittery, I go there.  

I recently bought an “In Style” magazine.  From the cover, Katie Holmes promised me my  ‘most fashionable year yet”.  Oh, mama.  Of course I needed this one.  Of course this one would solve all of my mishaps and maybe I could even learn something.  Ha.
As I flipped through the pages, ready to be inspired and informed, my excitement deflated.  I met ad after ad after ad after ad.  No words of advice, just thick and juicy commercial layouts a la Oprah’s favorite things.  A trend report if you will on what will be coming my way (and what I  most certainly won’t be able to afford) in 08′.  
Well, the angel on my shoulder (being the angel that she is) hated to say “I told you so,” but she just couldn’t help herself knowing that I’d wasted nearly 5 bucks on a cheap thrill…
“That coulda been Milk Money!!” 
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