duck-shaped pain

It turns out my dad is responsible for all of these -- he had some miniscule number of frequent-flyer miles on an airline he flew once and will never fly again, and they offered to convert those miles into magazine subscriptions. Fine enough, but he decided to sign up for every single one they had, whether it was interesting or not.

Now usually, I have a compulsion to read anything that comes into the house, even the useless little magazines AAA and my insurance company send me. But this sudden flood of periodicals is sort of overwhelming, forcing me to leave some of them -- gasp! -- unread.

It's not all bad. For every item of suck (Inc.), there is an item of gold (Food And Wine). I have no idea what I'm supposed to do about The Wine Spectator, but it does look impressive laying around in case anyone impressed by that sort of thing comes to visit all of a sudden.

Some of these magazines require me to reexamine parts of my life. For instance, I thought I would be at least in my late 40s before I had a subscription to Sunset -- part of the natural progression of age. What's worse is that it's one of the magazines I actually get around to reading, and I've been known to think, Hey, that's a good idea... Clipping out crap and saving it, though, is beyond me.