Melon & Magazines

I hope magazines never go away. Until someone makes up a better way to consume content, I’ll have my magazines, please.

I subscribe to over 400 magazines and I sign up for more every year.

I can read an entire magazine in 30 seconds. People might think I have a ton of magazines lying around my house, but I don’t—I’m not a hoarder. I put my old magazines in a slot that leads to a complex system of slides funneling into a large recycling bin in the alleyway next to my house.

My favorite magazine? Playboy. Great layouts, engaging articles and incredible interviews with all the James Bonds. Oh, and incredible photos of naked women.

People had a great run in the early ‘90s. NEXT is a video game magazine that includes a USB drive full of computer game demos with every issue. I love playing those games on my computer.

My diet is mostly melon, so I’m very thin, and my hands are usually moist or sticky. It makes turning the pages of magazines very easy.

I’ll cut up a melon and spend a good chunk of the day reading whatever’s new. When I really get going I call it “flipping,” like flipping out. I’ll finish a magazine, eat some melon, then start a new magazine.

Magazines are all about mixing words with images in an interesting way. Like, a photo of a bear might say ‘BEARS’ on it. That’s a boring headline. But imagine if the headline said “MAN RIPPED APART BY STARVING BEARS.” It’s terrifying. That’s the power of magazines.

My dream? I want to open a store called Sheer Volume that sells only magazines. It’ll have all the latest magazines on chains or ropes so kids can flip out and read. Sure, they can buy magazines—but I won’t be strict about sampling. I want it to be a community place, like a church or a bar.

My parents both worked when I was young so I didn’t head home right after school. Most days I’d power over to my friend Tim’s place. We’d go catch frogs by the creek or hang out in the abandoned car in his backyard. Before dinner we’d head to my place and read old magazines in the attic and eat melon.

My old man worked for the magazine company, so he’d come home late most nights. He’d always leave me a bundle of yesterday’s magazines before he got up early to leave. Some nights I’d pretend I was asleep and watch him bundle up stacks of fresh magazines with the twine from his utility belt. He loved magazines.

Sometimes my dad would take us on long road trips and he’d recite articles and interviews he’d committed to memory. He was an incredible man. Then one day he disappeared. Ever since his disappearance, magazines have been on the decline. Upside? I’m paying less than I ever have for magazines. Downside? They’re getting thinner and worse.

Magazines are losing their voice. Maybe if my dad came back he’d wrap this broken world up with the twine from his utility belt, and we’d share some melon together on the beach, flipping out on a fat stack of fresh, glossy magazines. Thanks for reading.