This is the first in a series of pointless - and I mean really f'ing pointless - posts.
Pointless?
Well, upcoming editions will be about the 13 most recent albums by a band few know of, and another, a complete list of the fake names that I've used in this blog since its inception. See what I mean?
They are harmless diversions, yet their mindless nature will lead many to say "My God, this guy needs to find something more productive to do."
Or, regarding today's post: "Narcissist, much?"
But I really don't care. Because, as feared, I spent quite a bit of (enjoyable) time at Esquire's completely gonzo archive site. Truth be told, it likely won't be the last time, either.
I am proud to share the first fruits of my (essentially meaningless) labor. Here are the covers of Esquire magazine, and a link to the complete issue, for the most interesting months/years involving my own life.
As above: this is a very self-absorbed post. But it's a fun exercise that I encourage everyone to try with their own dates.
The ability to read complete issues is amazing, for both the prose and the advertisements. Each issue is one small time capsule. One example: genius writer Tom Wolfe and his profile in March 1965 of the NASCAR star Junior Johnson. Also: the ads were so much more sincere, and less cynical? OK. Here is my life as told by the cover of Esquire magazine; quite a few are strangely apropos.
Many (OK, a couple) of you have expressed sympathy re: our missing luggage during our recent trip to Italy. And some even asked about using something like Apple's AirTags. Hunter Deuce says no.
Well, Lufthansa isn't having any of this air tag shit:
