I have been a fan of Vanity Fair ever since I first noticed it jammed behind Maxim at Mags n Fags. I read it cover to cover, always in order, and I ogle all the advertisements. Being blessed with no allergies, I sniff the scented strips; being somewhat celebrity-celebrating, I always read the Proust Questionnaire twice to make sure I didn't miss anything clever.
Today I brought it home, and I'm scared to open it. I grabbed it up because I could see that it was a new cover, and because I felt assured that the shot of the semi-nude man wasn't of Charlie Sheen. Humph, I notice, the cover is Rob Lowe. Now there's a fine distinction.
Then I notice the various headlines printed across parts of the considerable Rob: PRINCESS DIANA 2.0; ROYAL WEDDING; BILL GATES TRIED TO SCREW ME; and perhaps the most off-putting: ROB LOWE CONFESSES....
World, this is Vanity Fair! I give it hours of my life every month, and sometimes, besides knowing what the really thin, the really buff and the really rich might be wearing and smelling like, I learn stuff.
I'm putting this mag over on the top of the I-might-read-it-tomorrow basket. I've never done that before, but today,it feels good.