But it’s hard to keep up with the free magazines. They’re everywhere. They’re free. It’s easy to pick them up and aimlessly leaf through them while you’re waiting for a table at a restaurant. It’s easy to see them and slide one into your backpack and/or adult diaper. And then they pile up around the house, the airline magazine in our airport city, the dentist office debris in life’s waiting room.

Soon, you have piles of magazines with outdated event updates about events you never wanted to attend, grinning rictus faces of social elites in clubs you’re not allowed in, ads for things you’ll never desire. But when will you ever break them down? Get specific? What about the categories?

Today, we’re punting the categories — not because the gimmick is broken, but just because at some point you have to get these damn magazines out of your house. As long as there’s money to burn, people will keep making them. So we’re going to process three of these bastards as quickly as possible, giving you the high points so that hopefully next time, we can delve into a single issue in depth.

What are they? Today, we’re looking at two issues from January 2013 (River Region’s Journey and River Region Living) and one issue of Montgomery RSVP from May-June 2013. For convenience, we’re going to use nicknames for the rest of this review: RSVP, RRL and RRJ.

What’s the deal? Well, all three are obviously free magazines. Duh. They make their money from ad sales. And they’re all pretty much distributed in similar places. We can’t remember exactly where we grabbed these three, but you’ve probably seen them all somewhere (assuming you leave the house in between TV shows and game/video downloads).

Covers: Only RRL lacks a sub-head. RRJ claims to be “sharing hope and building community.” RSVP purports to be “The River Region Guide for All Things Social!” I mean, they don’t use the exclamation point, but it’s pretty much implied in everything they write. RRL and RRJ went with white people standing still for the cover, but RSVP takes home the Boring Cover Art award by taking a picture of five bottles of beer. In their defense, I’ve never consumed those beers, so they are certainly interesting to the kinds of folks that would pay $15 for a six pack. Sidebar: RRL continues to clarify that their magazine used to be called Montgomery Living. This is significant because they are not only trying to rope in readers from Millbrook and Prattville, this is also a racially-coded branding thing. Also, RRL continues to put a price tag on their covers, as if people were paying $3 to read it.

Level of Religion: RRJ is clearly the heavyweight in this category. It is clubbing you over the head with Jesus on pretty much every page. Their inside cover is an ad for Frazier, the Methodist MEGA-church. The lead feature appeals to those seeking finger-wagging before getting married. The subhead for the feature on page 34 is “What to Pray When You Don’t Know What to Pray.” The people who read RRJ are the kind of folks who like to be told what to do, if you know what I mean. Page 4 is “Pastor’s Perspective,” where Montgomery’s Rev. Graves strings together a bunch of cliches wrapped around an ad for a martial arts studio.

RRL does still remind you where you are. Page 8 is a full-pager for a religious private school and the cover-story is about the head of the YMCA and “God’s invitation to follow his real calling,” which was, as you might imagine, running the YMCA.

RSVP merely worships at the altar of money, and is for the most part pretty secular.

Whiteness: They’re all Utah-level white. For a city that is (at least) half African-American, these mags are Donny Osmond by way of Downton Abbey. RSVP might be the most diverse, but only because they did this weird (no, totally incomprehensible) photo layout on pages 26-28 that had 20 black folks in it. Other than an ad with a black lady in it, pretty much every other face is white, but that one story (about something called the “I Am More Than” campaign) gives them the most diversity. RRJ (the religious one) has photos of when they visited an orphanage in Kenya, so that doesn’t really count. Most of their ads are of white kids going to private school to be away from the black kids that are stuck in public schools, but one of those schools (Evangel Christian) has a non-white little girl in it. And RRL has a one-pager on the former Montgomery cop that the SPLC just hired. He’s African-American, along with maybe 2 percent of the other faces in the magazine. And remember, these magazines are using either clip art or pictures of people standing still, so we’re talking about a lot of smiling white people posing and facing the camera. RSVP’s list (“a who’s who of young leaders”) always has like one or two black people … again, in a city that is half black.

The Selling: They’re all about the same. As noted, the super-religious RRJ is mostly a vehicle for private school ads or ads for churches themselves (“Go Anglican!”) RRJ has an ad for potential advertisers touting their readers as having “lager household incomes,” which I assume means that their readers make money brewing beer. With editing like that, my biznez is shore to suckseed!

RSVP continues their shameless practice of writing “articles” about the people that buy ads from them. “Look! There’s a hot new gym in town! It just so happened to have purchased the full back cover as a color ad!” One feature about something potentially useful (a cobbler who repairs shoes) actually ends with the sentence, “I promise you will enjoy doing business there.” That’s some hot writing there, Stephanie Hoskins.

RRL is the usual collection of boutiques and stuff except for this hilarious ad on page 54 from a company that makes chemicals for women to put on their hair. Fronduti’s wants to be sure you know that their company (which makes “hair products” and is therefore a “product company”) is against domestic violence. Not only are they against it (and totally don’t support domestic violence of any kind, you guys), they want you to know that those other product companies HAVE NOT YET SPOKEN OUT AGAINST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. Why haven’t they? What are they hiding? Do those other product companies think that it might maybe just sometimes be okay to smack around your domestic partner if they happen to get a little “lippy?” Would a percentage of my hard-earned hair product dollar be channeled Chik-Fil-A-style to one of the Big Domestic Violence Lobbies? Because I do NOT want that shit to happen. Thank you, Fronduti’s, for having the courage to take a stand in a hideously-designed full-page ad … and for warning me about your competitors’ neglect of (nay, embrace of) this Important Social Issue.

Pics of the Makers: RRL comes strong with ol’ Darlene (who goes by Darlene Hutchinson Biehl) sitting kind of sideways in a kitchen chair in a photography studio, open-collared with blazer. (She wished you a happy new year, btw). The ladies from RSVP are, as always, sitting together next to the masthead, all six happy to be out at Hampstead, two of them holding wine glasses (one of them is empty … Oopsie!) They remind us that “summer is almost here” and let us know that they have two new interns. RRJ presents us with Jason Watson, the publisher, who we must painfully suspect is probably related somehow to editor DeAnne Watson. Suddenly the magazine’s constant exhortations that I embrace marital counseling feels especially awkward.

Bottom lines: These magazines are funny, but not hilarious. We may have glanced at them while waiting for food at some local restaurant, but were never drunk enough to properly fall onto the floor laughing. After all, once you see that they gave a Barbara Streisand movie a rating of “extreme caution” for moral acceptability (talk about a “Guilt Trip!“), you can actually start to feel sorry for the people trapped in these sorts of mental prisons. And it’s not just the “Public school atheists are out to warp your children” crowd. It’s also the watch-buying, boutique-frequenting beer snobs that are genuinely worried about hosting the perfect wedding brunch. You will always grab RSVP and smirk at The List’s tortured definitions of “young leaders,” but eventually, these magazines will start to pile up in your house. And although our city no longer participates in curbside pickup for recycling materials, you will still find a way to ensure, at least for now, that this particular trio will avoid the landfill for just a little bit longer.

Mid-morning on Saturday we hopped into the car, listening to the new Daft Punk album like everyone in the world is right now, and headed east. Our plan was to take 85 over to Notasulga, then head down to Tuskeegee and go back to Montgomery through Shorter and Pike Road. Even on the way out of town, we saw three yard sales. None of these had “world’s widest” branding, so it was hard to tell if they were the usual Saturday fare or were planned to coincide with the big event. We took the exit for Notasulga and headed north. On our right, we saw the first “World’s Widest” sign in red and white. It flagged a sale in front of a small home adjoining an abandoned gas station. The proprietor seemed a bit bemused by the larger event, though happy that he’d seen some business so far. He seemed to think it was a good thing and told us he wanted to do more yard selling, but his job was getting in the way right now. It was interesting to reconcile this with the week’s economic news.

Most of his goods were still in the box. We were most struck by the popcorn bowl with Authentic Clip-On Replica Basketball Hoop. That attached to one side of the bowl, while on the other was a popcorn-sized catapult. While this seemed like it might add whimsy to our popcorn-eating experience, we were more compelled by the mystery of its journey to the sale. Why was it still in the box? It’s not as if it was a collectible figurine. How had this man and the silent, sweating woman behind him come to possess several of these boxed items?

Up the road a little bit, we found two enterprising women sipping giant insulated cups. From their lawn chairs, they presided over a dozen or so folding tables displaying piles of objects curated to more or less successful effect. The clothes were singularly unappealing, largely mushed together and humid to the touch. A number of plus-sized dresses and a prom dress in a Dillard’s bag hung from a rack kept level by a large rock. A round table held some gadgets and metallic objects, the usual collection of giant fake pearls and plastic hoop earrings, and an old lighter that fascinated one of our fellow shoppers. He flicked it repeatedly, muttering to anyone who would listen that he could probably fix it with some flints and lighter fluid he had back home. We bought our first item here, a plate claiming to be made of bamboo and featuring a giant marauding robot movie poster ($.75) The ladies gave us some change and advised us to drive on up the road to “Not As Ugly.”

When we got there, it was clear that the enterprising citizens of Notasulga as well as their extended families had decided to go all in for this event. Stores that looked as if they were probably closed up the rest of the year had been opened and stocked with couches, brass framed mirrors, metal objects of obscure purpose, the usual frilly Auburn-or-Alabama handicrafts, piles of shoes with worn-down heels, paperbacks, and just about everything else you knew you didn’t need. There were also sidewalk vendors (“Need a serving tray? How about a clock?”) and folks putting tailgating tents to good use on downtown’s perimeter. Here we met some nice folks who had driven down from Illinois to visit family and sell some things. We bought some comics from them, including paying a dollar for one that the Internet claims is worth $80. At another stand, we got a little confused about mutual bargaining tactics and ended up getting talked into buying a “flaming pumpkin.” That’s right. It hangs up and, battery powered, glows into whispery paper flaming from its top ($5.00). Looks like real fire! boasts the box. Because the flaming pumpkin is totally a thing which demands verisimilitude. It will grace our sunroom. If it is anything like our other Halloween decorations, it will live there year-round.

After Notasulga, we headed off the grid for a little while. Not seeing any yard sales, we decided to return from whence we’d come and head down to Tuskegee. Although we had a nice drive through the campus, we didn’t see a yard sale at all until we got back on 80 down there. By this time, we’d developed some unspoken but totally agreed-upon criteria for when to stop or not. Neither of us were looking for clothes, so that ruled out a lot of the content at many sales. We weren’t going into compounds where the chainlink was decorated with frilly dresses and coats on hangers. Some sales seemed just a little weird, or like they might have been a sale on the previous day but had evolved into an excuse for neighbors to have lunch outside under a tent with a few old board games lying around. We did stop at a fire station hosting a sale. There we bought two old blue Bell jars ($10.00 each) and a ridiculously good piece of chocolate cake ($1.00) which we ate from the wrapper, being careful not to touch it with yard saling hands. We did not buy the surprisingly tiny coffee cup advertising that someone with one of our names was a “coffee hound,” accentuating the point with a picture of a dog.

Along 80 around Shorter, we found a church that has evidently been converted into a thrift store. Presumably for the occasion, the grounds were occupied by other sellers boasting rainbows of flower vases, partially chewed plastic toys, boxes of metal parts, and (as everywhere we went) a startling array of the collected works of Danielle Steele.

We didn’t see anything in Pike Road, but by then we’d wandered off the 80 route a little bit. When we tried to get back on, we found ourselves back on 85 heading home. We saw a sign for something called “Amy’s Antiques” on 231 and figured we’d stop there to see if they were participating in the festivities. There wasn’t any indication of the “World’s Widest” at Amy’s, but we did find a nice shop with reasonable prices that lacks some of Eastbrook’s often-overwhelming clutter. We bought a cool six-pot plant stand ($9.99), a set of four tiki mugs ($4.00) an old Alabama history textbook ($7.00) and two first-edition Stephen King books ($4.00 each). So much bounty!

We decided to call it a day. It was hot, and given that most of the sales we’d been to seemed both picked over and just about done, we figured it wouldn’t be worth it to go on to Selma. Like any yard sale adventure, you’re probably best getting out on the first day and early on. We did have a good time, and the sellers seemed like they were enjoying themselves too. It’s a nice idea to encourage folks to check out some parts of Alabama they might not otherwise drive to, and we hope it continues. Next year they really should think about some maps or a little bit more systematization, but we did appreciate the chaos of it all. It felt a little bit homemade, honestly, but so was our best purchase of the day – the dollar slice of firehouse chocolate cake.

Le Daft Punk

From the forthcoming series, “Art of the Sinclair’s restroom.”

A visitor to our yard relaxes on the roses.

Advertising!

After we got a good laugh about the poor grammar (“stress out?”) we talked about how sad it is that people would pay for something like this. We speculated about whether these kinds of “businesses” increase during tough economic times. We wondered if psychics and mediums were one of Alabama’s hottest growth sectors and whether Dr. Bentley counted these jobs as evidence of his economic successes.

But we also talked about how the Montgomery Performing Arts Centre (no, really, they use the pretentious European spelling and everything) is really doing the same thing as Ms. Ray by bringing noted fraud psychic John Edward to town (and yes, MPAC spells his name wrong on their website, adding an extra “s” to his last name).

MPAC may not be able to bring top notch musicians to town very often, but that’s no excuse for importing a huckster who claims to be able to talk to dead people. We should be ashamed to have this charlatan in our city.

Then again, maybe the police can use Mr. Edward to interview some of the victims of our city’s exploding murder rate. Surely, he (and his magic powers) would be a useful tool in solving any unresolved criminal cases.

No more. Now, we only drive cars or trucks, burning fossil fuels and cutting off the poor from employment and health care. Out city buses became famous for racism and tactics deployed against it. We now incentivize sprawl, which is convenient for those looking to flee neighbors that don’t look like them or share their values.

This sign is still on display downtown, as poetic in decay as the discarded idea it represents. Here’s hoping that one day our city will again be on the cutting edge of something good.

The experience was equally unsavory for the fact that we were seated beneath a photo of an actual execution (a picture of a firing squad from what looked to be the Pancho Villa days) as it was for the fact that we were seated next to a table of cops bragging to each other about beating people up. Not the most appetizing of lunch settings to be looking at executions while hearing about police brutality.

But we were still determined to give the food a fair shake — and it was indeed terrible, perhaps even more terrible than the terrible atmosphere. People that think of Jalapenos as good Mexican food probably also think of Cinco de Mayo as an authentic Mexican holiday. To be fair, good fun can be had drinking beer on May 5. But nothing good can come out of eating the watery tomato swill that Jalapenos calls salsa.

The best thing that can be said about lunch at Jalapenos is that it doesn’t take very long. They whip the menus right at you and are ready to take your order before you have even glanced through items numbered 1 through 70, to say nothing of the 20-plus other items on the special lunch menu. They want to know what number you’re having. They don’t want you to try to pronounce it. They want the number. There are only about 100 numbers, and you need to pick a number right now. Are you ready yet?

Vegetarian items are helpfully set aside on the menu, and the pickings are slim. No, they can’t make the chile rellenos without meat because they are all pre-made. They are ready to bring them out to you now. Have you ordered yet? Have you picked a number?

Don’t get distracted by the Barbie doll wearing a bull fighter costume that has been affixed to the wall. That’s called culture. Don’t let the echo of the 1920s Mariachi music distract you from the surprising emptiness of the place during the lunch hour. That’s how you know what country your lunch recipes came from. It fulfills all of the official red-white-and-green flag criteria for Authentic USA Mexican Restaurant Incorporated. What number are you having?

Perhaps you have been slowed by the stale chips that have been slung at you, the plastic basket staring up at you like an accusation. You chose this fate. You have plugged into Jalapenos for lunch. Just as Jalapenos was plugged into an empty space in the city’s favorite economic development site — The Alley.

This restaurant used to be The Cantina. That restaurant was also terrible, famous for sticking frozen fish sticks in a tortilla and calling it a fish taco. Is this location cursed? No. People might be willing to eat lunch here even though parking is scare. But for that, the food would have to be good.

Look, nighttime might be another story. Conventioneers from out of town might not know any better. Jalapenos may do a brisk trade in watered-down sugar-syrup margaritas and Dos Equis. Those people may just be looking for something to fill the “dinner” slot in their evening agendas, just as Jalapenos throws some shredded iceberg lettuce onto your lunch plate to fill that extra space. It doesn’t matter what’s there. It’s just a thing to eat.

For people that have never had any better, this may be just fine. If someone grew up in Hayneville and had never had Mexican food before, Jalapenos might be a delightful treat on a trip to “the big city.” If they’re in for a convention and staying at the Renaissance, they may feel like they walked over and found a gem of a place to hit on Betsy from Accounting.

But we left Jalapeno’s talking about the nature of violence. Our guts were churning in hostile protest about the offense we had just committed against them. The grease was making vile claims. And the city’s favor towards The Alley as the crown jewel of downtown economic development seemed ever more like a farce: “Here’s a tax break. Look at these people drinking cheap beer. Open a business here and hire someone but please, for your own sake, don’t put any of this food in your mouth.”

Jalapenos is not the only restaurant in The Alley that sucks. But it is the only one that feels like someone’s revenge against the city where HB 56 was passed.

An Irish Pub in Cloverdale? People freaked out. Again, check out the “love it or leave it” tenor to the comments section. Also, an Irish pub just opened downtown. The concerns about Cloverdale parking and trash pickup are legit, especially the parking ones. But while concerned, we also don’t want that strip to remain empty. Someone to buy and fix up that building? Sounds great. We support economic development. And if we can get a nice beer in a chill environment, all the better. Competition is good for everyone, and even the sanctified El Rey and LeRoy bar scene(s) could use a healthy (and friendly) rising tide to lift all boats.

So here’s the latest: It’s not going to be the SugrueBAR. It’s going to be named after the original name for Cloverdale, which is at least a cool historical nod. It’s still going with the ethnic gimmick. If you can’t have an Irish pub, why not just switch it to Welsh Gaelic Scottish? And the spelling on their promotional material reflects an attention to detail that is, um, “forthcomming.”

When they say “comming soon,” they mean that they will be using communication devices like in Star Trek

For what it’s worth, yes, that is a falcon ripping apart a stork. We assume that the anti-stork sentiment is part of a critique of over-population. And the “Ne Oublie” thing means “never forget,” which the Graham Clan says means we are never to forget “the concept of chivalry, bravery and Christian service to your fellow man.”

So, ladies, keep in mind that chivalry. And Christian service. Two universal hallmarks of a fun bar. And don’t forget that Scottish clan. And beer in the neighborhood pub. Huzzah! Economic development!