Pop Culture Porn
When I met my wife I made fun of her magazine subscriptions. She had set both The New Yorker (swanky) and Entertainment Weekly (trashy) next to each other on the end table. Outwardly, I mocked her contradictory sensibilities, but I knew I would never read The New Yorker and instead would secret away the EW to the back porch or the bathroom to read while she wasn’t looking. It was my pop culture porn: I was ashamed that I couldn't look away. I gradually gave up trying to hide my gratification of the pop culture dish that is the EW . Now I proudly read nearly every word every week. My descent into a pop culture junkie wouldn't have happened without it. I eagerly await the arrival of the next issue. If it doesn't show up in the mail on Friday, I'm desolate until Saturday when I hear the mail carrier open that mail slot. And if it's not there and I have to wait until Monday? Oh, the humanity! I take a new EW and flip through the pages, identifying the major