What kind of freak am I?

We had to go out this afternoon. In case you didn't know, it's about -40 degrees F here. Even my cashmere scarf can't keep me warm. On the way back, we stopped to get gelato. There's a cute little place across the street from my office where you can mix and match flavors (today, I got lemon and lime). What kind of freak eats gelato in -40 weather? We hurried across the street carrying our treat in gloved hands, walked into our office and turned on the space heater. Freak.

So, I went back to Border's. I'm having concentration problems lately. I want to read, but nothing looks good. When this happens, I buy magazines. There's something soothing about a magazine. I think it's the commitment thing - it's not much of a commitment when all the stories/articles/essays are only 5 pages long. I was delighted to find this:


Can you read the subtitle? It says feminist response to pop culture. I admit to being a pop culture 'ho as well as a feminist. You gotta love a magazine with an article titled "Dear Carnie Wilson: Your stomach's the size of a peanut. Shut up, already." The ubiquitous quiz is "Which Coppola are you?" What a scream. And I thought it was going to be about lesbians with pure bred dogs - go figure.