Ugh, rotten rainy day, Cassie is ill, I’m feeling uninspired and still feeling the effects of the time change, and then I sit down and read Esquire magazine, and it not only says that “real men” don’t do this and that (including referring to chores as “chores”, WTF?), but nobody’s favorite self-obsessed interviewer Scott “Don’t Confuse Me With Stefan” Raab rants on about good filmmakers, how they are all up themselves, and how Kevin fuckin’ Smith is the best director. I do not need this.
So it would seem that Esquire is turning into a cross between Loaded and Maxim. I say again, if Cassie hadn’t subscribed to a decade’s worth of issues for something like $5.13, I wouldn’t buy it. Gah.