I still haven't forgiven Rolling Stone for the cover it printed last summer of a teenage boy flashing his treasure trail—it was Zac Efron, but it was still ultra creepy—but I think the magazine's current cover may actually even more embarrassing: It's The Eagles. Honest to God. The Eagles.
The magazine's back-and-forth pandering between its boomer and its tween target readerships has hit new schizophrenic extremes in recent years, as the boomers get older and the tweens younger. But although I made good on my promise not to renew my subscription, the magazine keeps coming and coming, filling up my mailbox every other week like some horrible, overstuffed and sporadically glossy-covered coupon flier.
