My homage...its name is Vanity

Every month, like clockwork, for the past 4 years, I have fallen deeper and deeper into a contemplative state of appreciation. Each month I devote as much time as I can to the object of my affection, soaking in new ideas and points of view; forcing my brain to pick up the dumbbells and pick up the pace on the treadmill. Lately, this relationship of mine has reached an internal boiling point where I will finally come forth and declare it to be love, not caring what the naysayers and critics may lament me with. No, this is simply between me and my Vanity Fair.

Mix equal parts politics, pop culture, obscure news about the world's wealthiest, gorgeous portrait photography, materialism, creative passion, drama, cheekiness and brilliant writing. Shake and pour into a perfect-bound, 400-page monster choc-a-bloc full of glossy advertisements for things I'll never be able to afford, and deliver to the waiting arms of my LA mailbox. Delicious. Refreshing. Lingering...

I once read a memoir indicating that Vanity Fair's brilliant editor, Graydon Carter, may not exactly be a cherub to work for, but in a move very unlike myself, I haven't let that deter me from first seeking out his "Editor's Letter" before fanning through the rest of the pages to decide which article to next tackle (and I do mean tackle, not read, as they are often PAGES long - each requiring an actual time commitment). It helps that I often agree with his politics and am delighted by his sense of humor, which in the January 2008 issue, titled "The Abominable No-Man and Mr. 9/11," combined into a super force that had me dog-earring it so I could have Teen read it later. The first 2 paragraphs alone are enough to make me laugh, while also being horrified and outraged...but hey, that's me. Read and judge for yourself here.

In my 4 years as a subscriber there are a few articles that stick in my mind. One tracked a young man and his girlfriend who went to live amongst the bears of Alaska, and ultimately ended up losing their lives to those very bears. Another zoned-in on a rich old bitty in Connecticut who was taken hostage in her own humongous home...all while her grandson slept upstairs, never knowing of her night of terror. There were articles exploring the luxury lifestyles of those whom frequent fabulous Monte Carlo; investigative nitpicking into the handsome young Fiat heir who was found to have overdosed in the apartment of a tranny prostitute; announcing the triumphant arrival of Tory Burch to the fashion scene; and my most recent favorite, "The Right Fluff: A Guy's Guide to Chick Flicks," which deconstructs with humor and sensibility the movie genre continuing to stand the test of my time - the chick flick - in an article that made me think and grin.

Maybe it's because I so deeply love the art of writing - always wishing that I could be fully let into the secret of the craft - that I so very much appreciate a magazine that clearly celebrates its contributors with plenty of creative wiggle room in the form of generous word counts. Still, one of my favorite regular pieces is to be found in the Fanfair section, and consists of few words...but oh, they can be so telling into how one goes about living their life. Each month a different noteworthy person is presented with a request to share what kind of...stuff...plays the roles of silent sidekicks in their lives. I've often thought that if ever I was to be in Vanity Fair, this short little blip found somewhere in the middle of each issue, would be my best shot. And so, to wrap up this homage, I leave you with this... "My Stuff."