A journey begins with a single, dainty step.

I spent some time this weekend at Barnes And Noble, reading through the magazines. I’ve always loved that place (along with its separated by shareholders twin, Borders) simply because of the magazine rack. As I’ve expressed many times before, I’m a fan of racks but this is different. Y’see, The Big Nameless Bookstore allows you to peruse so many different periodicals that I felt like a virgin in a brothel - shamed by my inexperience, overwhelmed by all the choices, and worried I’ll put things in the wrong place. Periodical virginity aside, when I peruse tha’ ‘zines (as the kids call it) I learn so much about myself, that in my shrine to commercialism, Barnes and Noble/Borders is better than the Dalai Lama, because this one comes with a frequent buyer’s card.

Anyway, looking through the magazines I came across one called CMYK. Tha’ ‘zine (as the kids call it) highlights student work from around the world, and highlights it quite well. Well, a lot better than a guy with a sandwich board screaming out names, I guess. Speaking of, what’s happened to the “guy with a sandwich board” gig anyway? Any gig where pants are optional has got to be a good gig. But, I digress. Anyway, looking at CMYK, I discovered that - if I were an artist - I would be a woman.

Now, allow me to get all “backpedal-ly” on you, just so I don’t seem like a total woman hating ass. Because I’m not. Seriously. You cannot believe everything you see on Wikipedia. Or your best friend’s advice. Or the actual thoughts in my head. Seriously. Can’t. Be. Trusted. So yeah, when perusing tha’ zine (as the kids call it) I found myself connecting to the pieces that were more sensitive. More revelatory of the artist. More in touch with emotion. Y’know, more female.

Not surprisingly, this is pending more investigation. But first, I need to see how this makes me feel. Not just in my heart, but in my soul too.