Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Just Call Me Bruce Vilanch. OK, Please Don't.

Last week, I got another one of those letters that says I've got a bunch of airline miles and they're about to expire, and would I like to convert them to magazine subscriptions? Ordinarily, I would have been jumping for joy and hoisting a celebratory glass of champagne. I mean, free magazines. There's not much that's better. Maybe Hostess Sno-Balls. But I just got one of these same letters from another airline (which I don't even recall flying recently) and got about 12 million magazines out of that deal, plus a few for some friends.

I wasn't sure if I really wanted to sign on for yet more magazines. But I couldn't let the miles go to waste, and there were several of them that I know friends would want, but I was already getting those and passing them on. Why does it always have to be magazines? Why can't I convert them to a $50 gift card to Target or something? These people must think I have hours upon hours to sit around. Wait, maybe they read my blog.

Anyway, I was backed into a corner, dammit, so I bit the bullet and signed on for more free magazines. God, why me?! Oh, cruel fate, cursing me like this! I did get Golf Magazine for my stepbrother, but he doesn't know it yet. The post office is going to have to start sending out a special truck just for us, and it's probably going to need two trips.

So, we're now getting or going to be getting: Entertainment Weekly, Spin, Wall Street Journal, Smart Money, Shape, Esquire, Jane, Newsweek, Budget Living, Everyday Food, Lucky, Star, W and Wine Spectator. Too bad I ran out of miles, because I didn't get to order any gems like Arthritis Self-Management and Nursing Made Incredibly Easy.

The upshot is that if I read all of our magazines from cover to cover, I'll pretty much be perfect.