You know those days when you're not feeling so ... fabü? Maybe your general sense of well-being is missing. In its place is anxiety and paranoia. Maybe you didn't get enough sleep. Or your clothes don't hang right. Or you drank too much wine the night before. Or you're having flashbacks from ’Nam. Whatever the trouble, the last thing you want to happen upon is your stupid face smirking back at you from the pages of Albuquerque the Magazine.
Backing up. Whoa. Wow. What an honor. If you've not heard, I was included in Albuquerque the Magazine's “Best of the City 2009." After razzing the local lifestyle rag's goofy "Hot Singles of Albuquerque" issue in this column every fall for five years (not four, as its writers claimed), the flossy glossy decided to award my hard work with the editor's pick, "Best Reporter Who Can't Decide if She Loves Us Or Hates Us."
The flossy glossy decided to award my hard work with the editor's pick, "Best Reporter Who Can't Decide if She Loves Us Or Hates Us."
First, guys, I don't love or hate you. You frustrate me. You've got a huge audience and editorial space aplenty. It could be a beautiful thing, yet ... [hostile rant—referencing SkyMall hot dog toasters and ending with a request for more photos of Albuquerque interiors—omitted by author].
Second, why?!? Why, oh, why did I allow myself to be caught in Albuquerque the Magazine's pictorial snare? On the faux soap box left over from our 2007 Festival of Opinions, no less. Pretending to read the magazine. Feigning annoyance as my co-workers heckled. Photographer Liz Lopez must have spiked my coffee that morning (with CABQ fairy dust brewed in ex-Mayor Martin Chavez' secret underground lair, most likely), because I suddenly found myself obeying all of her requests. The goofiness I've ridiculed all these years, and the same reproach I feel for the Hot Singles issue, is now directed at myself. Alas.
In any case, I forget my manners. Thank you for noting my contrary scribblings, Albuquerque the Magazine. More home interiors, please.