Today was one of my favourite days of the month… Magazine Shop Day. Left to my own devices, I would spend as much on magazines as I spend on yarn… and this, as those who know me have gathered, is no small feat.
However, this month, I did attempt to exercise some restraint, given the continued reminder of last month’s pile, mocking me every evening from my living room table:
Three guesses who this lot is for, and the first two don’t count:
Gotta love these British tabloids, with words like “yobs” featuring every week in the headlines! JJ is off tomorrow, lucky wee bugger. This should just about see him through until I make it home from work, don’t you think?
And never let it be said, by the way, that I am not a permissive spouse. One of these mags features… a centrefold!!!
And I foresee yet another mail order session by JJ in future…
(See? In case ye thought ah made it up… they actually dae speak like tha’!!)
So, JJ’s all set for hours of amusement and entertainment. Ah’m so guid tae him, no?
Now for the rest of our little family… I know that every time I buy Toronto Life, that increasingly irritating chronicle of gentrification and excess in the Big City, I say that I will never, ever, ever spend my hard-earned pinko dollars on it again. However, Daisy “Bling” Brouhaha made a demand for it last evening, and I just can’t say no to Daisy.
But I digress. For the intellectual in the house, I also brought in the Walrus. Generous of me, considering how frustrated I get when I can’t even get one clue in the cryptic crossword…damn and blast Fraser Simpson!!!
But, despite the pile, I couldn’t leave myself out, of course. So, while Quack figures out what exactly is ailing the Nation’s Capital…
Oh, and of course I couldn’t pass up the requisite knitting pattern mag:
Not sure quite why I continue to buy this, but if the past few issues are any indication, at least I won’t add to my project queue…
I also picked up a copy of one of the local weekly leftie-ish entertainment mags:
The photo makes me feel rather lazy. I don’t even own a bike, which makes me a bad, bad Torontonian. Since I moved to Toronto, I’ve had one bike which lasted approximately 3 months before it was stolen right out of the entranceway of the building I lived in then – an old Victorian house with three flats. It had a wooden stairwell with thick banisters and I had locked the bike to that. The thief sawed through the bannister and took the bike, expensive Krypton lock and all.
(Don’t feel too sorry for me, though. I managed to get Stan the landlord to waive a month’s rent in exchange. Stan was an old Polish guy who was going through some problems at the time, and I took shameless advantage. One day, I’ll post the sorry story of my tenancy at 12 Maynard… it’s quite funny, actually).
Anyway, why the hell should I feel lazy? I think I should actually feel quite intelligent… if I were to write the Commuter Cyclist’s Handbook it would have one sentence only:
Don’t cycle to work in Toronto, unless you enjoy taking your life in your hands.
And I wonder why Now Magazine never publishes my submissions!!!
Happy Friday to all…!