Every now and again life throws up a little surprise that just sits there and goes
‘Ha! you didn’t expect THAT did you?’
Usually, these are bad things, like a chainsaw to the leg, driving headlong into a freshly opened sink-hole in the road or a wasp stinging you in the eyeball*
*I might be kind of hamming it up a little here
Sometimes, however, it’s something utterly amazing.
Like my lovely wife ordering the first edition of super new funky Australian men’s magazine ‘Smith Journal’ as a surprise for me.
I must confess, I know nothing of Frankie, the sister, or parent (Mother maybe?) magazine for women, but anyway, they decided that cool men of the arty ‘chap’ variety would like something to read too.
And so they sneakily put together a work of fine art.
In gorgeous textured matte muted colour too.
Its full of amazing photo stories, articles and lovely vintage designery stuff that makes me wish I had double the disposable income.
In short, I love it. It’s beautifully written with lovely pictures, well judged content wise and aimed perfectly at stylish 30 somethings with good taste like my good self. Well, maybe. I’m slightly over their target demographic age wise, but because I’m perfectly preserved and look at least 10 years younger, I can get away with it. And I don’t care, it has famous typewriters on the front cover and an advert for a vintage bike in it and that is enough for me.
You know it’s good because it makes me want to write something to contribute to it and be a part of it.
So, the Smith Journal. Buy it and be cool. Wear some tweed and bring your stuffed cat. Yes, it’s *that* cool.
Actually, it’s probably too cool for you.
Move along now.