You know, ideally, this is one of my favorite magazines. But in execution, I end up hating it. The writing is not nearly as good as it perpetrates being a lot of times, and the content borders on goofy hipsterism too often as well. Like this is the sports issue, so you think a great idea would be cockfighting, being it’s “the southern magazine of good writing”. Except rather than anybody actually getting immersed in anything to have a good basis to ramble a thousand words off about the wonderful sport of the chicken fights, some dude just whips out a thing real quick. All possibility and little delivery. That’s what The Oxford American seems to be a lot of times. Still, there’s usually a good article or two in it, to make it worth the five bucks. I guess. It holds a spot in the toiletside peach crate of reading material for a long time each issue though, which is probably more important than it actually being good. I think the longest thing in that crate is my copy of The People’s History of the United States, which has become a played-out ass book to talk about, but it’s fun because it’s reverse history and you can just pop it open while taking a shit and read about something for two pages. Then you can talk about that thing you read the next day and look like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. I often wish conspiracy websites put out a book like that every couple of months, collecting their best bullshit, because I’d enjoy reading about Obama being Cheney’s eighth cousin and how there was already in place a contingency plan to assassinate Ron Paul had he been elected, just in case, much more on the toilet than online, where everything has way too much self-consciousness and anything you read, you can already imagine 7000 other people making fun of it, which kills it’s possible truth for you automatically from jump.
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