Toward the end of middle school, I decided one day that I was going to really like Rolling Stone. Having lost interest in sports and with little knowledge about movies or cars or music or any of the things that my peers gabbed about over lunch, I decided Rolling Stone was my ticket to finding an interest/personality. I sent in for a subscription and that was that.
When I got my first issue in the mail in 2001 (cover: the girls of "American Pie 2"), I felt like a new (young) man. It was a little bit of everything: pop culture and politics, movies and music, trend pieces and profiles. I imagine I felt a little bit like Harry when he first walked inside the doors of Hogwarts.
I wanted a way to signify that I was a new me, a me that would know (if superficially) about things. For lack of a better idea, I decided to keep every single issue in the cabinet in my room: Outkast to "The Hills" and everything in between.
Today, about seven years later, I woke up and decided to recycle them all (except for a choice few -- I just couldn't fathom parting with Evangeline Lilly's 2005 "Hot List" cover, for example). It was something marvelous. I threw all the issues into a trash bag and they're gone and now I have all this space in my cabinet and the giddiness I feel about deciding what to fill it with is almost too much to bear.