As a matter of fact, I'm feeling so good, I don't really have anything to complain about. I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend, I'm doing well at my work, I have cash in my pocket. Life is good.
Though I feel, writing here, that I should complain about something. I don't plan on complaining about my inability to complain, that's just a bit too masterbatory. I need to think of something, though...
Okay, how about this. The chapter of Stiffed I just finished, the one concerning Details magazine, was a bit muddled. At first it seemed there was the mourning of an inventive, gay-oriented afterhours 'zine that had been converted to a traditional "men's magazine." Then it seemed to be mourning the loss of an fresh "men's magazine" in the wave of almost-enough-flesh-for-playboy, Cosmo-for-men "Maxim"-style rags. She seemed to point out all the flaws of the "men's magazine" viewpoint, with all it's confusion and foolishness, and then attempt to defend it when something even nastier came about. "A failure for men to enter the realm of ornamental masculinity." As if successfully entering it would have been some sort of victory.
Those are probably the most harsh words you'll ever hear me speak about Faludi. She's just passed Moses on my "most influential authors" list, and is still climbing. Despite these problems, I can't wait for the next chapter.